LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

- ]^\-7f— ■ ^ 

riiap. . Capyright M..a^.__ 

•Shelf.. . P4t?. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




o 



ECLECTIC SCHOOL READINGS 
» 

OUR COUNTRY 

IN 

POEM AND PROSE 



ARRANGED FOR COLLATERAL AND 
SUPPLEMENTARY READING 

BY 

ELEANOR A. PERSONS 

TEACHER OF HISTORY, YONKERS PUBLIC SCHOOLS 



NEW YORK •:• CINCINNATI •:• CHICAGO 

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY .. -.' -.. * 




.7 



47059 

Copyright, 1859, by 
ELEANOR A. PERSONS 

Per. Our Country 
w. i>. I 

TWO COPIES REGEIVKD. 




SECOND COPY. 



rvwv6 



PREFACE. 



The pupils' interest in history depends largely upon 
the amount of bright, entertaining material brought for- 
ward during the recitation. This volume is presented 
to the public in the hope that it may place directly in 
the hands of pupils the supplemental literature needed. 

The author is indebted to Dr. William J. Milne, Mr. 
Charles E. Gorton, Dr. Edward Shaw, Miss Lucy A. 
Earle, and Miss Cora M. Hill for valuable suggestions. 

Selections from the works of Aldrich, Phcjebe Cary, 
Emerson, Fiske, Bret Harte, Holmes, Howells, Long- 
fellow, Stedman, Taylor, and Whittier are used by arrang- 
ment with and permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin 
& Company, the authorized publishers of the works of 
these authors. 

Acknowledgment is due also to the following publishers 
for permission to use copyrighted selections: Messrs. D. 
Appleton & Company, Mr. C. W. Bardeen, Messrs. Little, 
Brown & Company, Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, Messrs. 
Scott Toresman & Company, the New England Publish- 
ing Company, and the Educational Publishing Company. 

Eleanor A. Persons. 

5 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Hiawatha Longfellow, 1 1 

Supposed Speech of an Indian Chief Everett, 14 

Indian Names Sigour/iey, 16 

The Skeleton in Armor Longfellow, 19 

Columbus Proetor, 21 

The Return of Columbus 22 

Ponce de Leon Butterworth, 25 

Verrazani Butterworth, 28 

De Soto Biitierworth, 29 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert Longfelloiv, 31 

Pocahontas Thackeray, 2iZ 

The Mayflower Everett, 34 

The Landing of the Pilgrims Mrs. LLemans, 2,6 

The Courtship of Miles Standish Longfellow, 39 

Roger Williams '. Biitterworth, 41 

The Coming of the Huguenots Moragiie, 42 

Charles II and William Penn 44 

T'he Quaker of the Olden Time Whittier, 47 

Pentucket Whittier, 48 

Song of Braddock's Men 51 

Acadia Longfellow, 53 

Death of Wolfe 54 

America's Obligation to England Barre, 55 

7 



8 



PAGF. 



New England's Chevy Chase Hale, 56 

Lexington Holmes^ 60 

The Revolutionary Alarm Bancroft, 62 

Lexington Irving, 64 

Concord Fight Emerson, 65 

The Minuteman Cnrtis, 67 

The Green Mountain Boys Bryant, 69 

Bunker Hill Webster, 70 

Warren's Address Fierpont, 72 

The Sword of Bunker Hill ... .... Wallace, 73 

Washington Byron, 74 

Under the Old Elm Lowell, 75 

Washington Parker, 77 

Franklin's Epigrams, Etc 80 

Boston Common — Three Pictures Holmes, 81 

The Rising of '76 Read, 83 

The American War Pitt, 86 

Independence Bell 88 

The Declaration of Independence Randall, 92 

Nathan Hale Finch, 93 

The Battle of Trenton 95 

Carmen Bellicosum McMaster, 96 

Occupation of Philadelphia Brown, 98 

The Fate of John Burgoyne ... 100 

The Surrender of Burgoyne Be Peyster, 102 

At Valley Forge Brown, 103 

The Storming of Stony Point Mrs. Grecnleaf, 104 

Song of Marion's Men Bryant, 107 

King's Mountain Simms, 109 

Pulaski's Banner Longfellow, 1 1 1 



The Dance 

Talleyrand and Arnold 

Andre to Washington Willis^ 

Washington's Sword and Franklin's Staff Adams, 

Yorktown Whitticr, 

Horologe of Liberty 

Lafayette Spr(7gi(c, 

My First Steamboat Fulton, 

A Pleasant Remark from Franklin Fiske, 

Patriotism ... . Scott, 

Preamble to the Constitution 

General Jackson at New Orleans . , . Gayarrc, 

The Battle of Lake Erie Hildreth, 

Perry's Victory 

Buena Vista Pike, 

Monterey ". Jlofiiian, 

Old Ironsides Holmes, 

Scott and the Veteran Taylor, 

The Picket Guard Beers, 

The Cavalry Charge Taylor, 

Ready . PJuvbe Cary, 

The Cruise of the Monitor Baker, 

Kearney at Seven Pines Stedma>i, 

Fredericksburg Aldrich, 

Keenan's Charge Lathrop, 

The Black Regiment Boker, 

John Burns of Gettysburg Harte, 

Address at Gettysburg. . . Lincoln, 

The Battle above the Clouds Hoiaells, 

The Soldier's Reprieve Mrs. Robbins, 



lO 

PAGE 

Sheridan's Ride RcaJ^ \ 68 

Chickamauga Biittcrwortli^ 1 70 

Music in Camp Thompson, 1 7 1 

Roll Call Shcpard, i 73 

Cavalry Song Stcdf/ia/i, 1 75 

Sherman's March to the Sea Byers^ 176 

The Blue and the Gray Fi/ic/i, 177 

O Captain ! My Captain U'/iifnia/i, 179 

Death of Lincoln Brya/it, 181 

The Burning of Chicago Carlctoii^ 181' 

Custer's Last Charge Whittaker, 185 

President Garfield Longfellow, 188 

The Private Soldier Grant, 188 

Death of Grant Whitman, 1 90 

Centennial Hymn Whittier, 191 

Havana Harbor Oliver, 192 

A Ballad of Manila Bay Roberts, 1 94 

The Men behind the Guns Shea, 196 

Wheeler at Santiago Gordon, 199 

"Don't Cheer, the Poor Devils are Dying" , . .Hubbell, 201 

Boundaries of the United States Fiske, 202 

The Schoolhouse Stands by the Flag Butterworth, 204 



OUR councRv m poem ]\m pro$€. 



HIAWATHA. 

Longfellow. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (i 807-1 882), was one of the best 
loved of American poets. He was born in Maine, but the greater 
part of his life was spent at Cambridge, Mass. 

Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind 

Sees God in clouds or hears him in the wind. — Pope. 

Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier 
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook. 

Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — 
A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear. 

— CcDiipbell. 

From his wanderings far to eastward, 
From the regions of the morning. 
Homeward now returned lagoo, 
The great traveller, the great boaster, 
Full of new and strange adventures, 
Marvels many and many wonders. 
And the people of the village 
Listened to him as he told them 
Of his marvellous adventures; 
Laughing, answered him in this wise; 
"Ugh! it is indeed Tagoo! 
No one else beholds such wonders! " 
He had seen, he said, a water 



12 



Bigger than the Big Sea Water, 

Broader than the Gitche Gumee, 

Bitter so that none could drink it! 

At each other looked the warriors, 

Looked the women at each other, 

Smiled, and said, " It cannot be so! 

Kaw! " they said, " it cannot be so! " 

O'er it, said he, o'er this water 

Came a great canoe with pinions, 

A canoe with wings came flying, 

Bigger than a grove of pine trees. 

Taller than the tallest tree tops! 

And the old men and the women 

Looked and tittered at each other; 

" Kaw! " they said, " we don't believe it! " 

From its mouth, he said, to greet him. 

Came Waywassimo, the lightning, 

Came the thunder, Annemeekee! 

And the warriors and the women 

Laughed aloud at poor lagoo; 

" Kaw! " they said, " what tales you tell us! ' 

In it, said he, came a people. 

In the great canoe with pinions 

Came, he said, a hundred warriors; 

Painted white were all their faces 

And with hair their chins were covered! 

And the warriors and the women 

Laughed and shouted in derision. 

Like the ravens on the tree tops, 

Like the crows upon the hemlocks. 

'' Kaw! " they said, " what lies you tell us! 

Do not think that we believe them! " 

Only Hiawatha lausfhed not, 

But he gravely spake and answered 



13 



To their jeering and their jesting: 
" True is ah lagoo tehs us; 
I have seen it in a vision, 
Seen the great canoe with pinions, 
Seen the people with white faces. 
Seen the coming of this bearded 
People of the wooden vessel 
From the regions of the morning. 
From the shining land of Wabun. 
" Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Sends them hither on his errand, 
Sends them to us with his message. 
" Let us welcome, then, the strangers, 
Hail them as our friends and brothers. 
And the heart's right hand of friendship 
Give them when they come to see us. 
Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
Said this to me in my vision. 
'' I beheld, too, in that vision 
All the secrets of the future. 
Of the distant days that shall be. 
I l^eheld the westward marches 
Of the unknown, crowded nations, 
All the land was full of people. 
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving. 
Speaking many tongues, yet feeling 
But one heart-beat in their bosoms. 
In the woodlands rang their axes. 
Smoked their towns in all the valleys, 
Over all the lakes and rivers 
Rushed their great canoes of thunder, 
" Then a darker, drearier vision 
Passed before me vague and cloudlike ; 



14 

I beheld our nation scattered, 
All forgetful of my counsels, 
Weakened, warring with each other: 
Saw the remnants of our people, 
Sweeping westward, wild and woful. 
Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, 
Like the withered leaves in Autumn." 

Hiawatha — The Wise Man, the Teacher. Gitche Gtanee — 
Big Sea Water — the Indian names for Lake Superior. Wabun — 
East Wind. Gitche Manito — Great Spirit. 

Read The Bridal of Pennacook. — Whittier; The Indians — 
Spragiie. 



SUPPOSED SPEECH OF AN INDIAN CHIEF. 

Everett. 

Edward Everett (1794-1865), a fine example of the scholar in 
politics, was born in Massachusetts. In the course of his life 
he was Governor of Massachusetts, President of Harvard Col- 
lege, U. S. Minister to England, Secretary of State and U. S. 
Senator. 

" White man, there is eternal war between me and 
thee! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my 
life. In those woods, where I bent my youthful bow, 
I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still 
glide in my bark canoe; by those dashing waterfalls I 
will still lay up my winter's store of food; on these fer- 
tile meadows I will still plant my corn. 

" Stranger, the land is mine. I gave not my con- 
sent, when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were 
purchased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They could 
sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How 
could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit sent 



15 

me into the world to live upon? They knew not what 
they did. 

" The stranger came, a timid suppliant, and asked 
to lie down on the red man's bearskin, and warm him- 
self at the red man's fire, and have a little piece of land, 
to raise corn for his women and children; — and now 
he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads 
out his parchment over the whole, and says, ' It is mine.' 

" Stranger, there is not room for us both. The 
Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There 
is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's dog 
barks at the red man's heels. 

" If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither 
shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among 
the graves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the 
west? — the fierce Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe. 

" Shall I fly to the east? — the great water is before 
me. No, stranger; here I have lived, and here will I 
die; and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war 
between me and thee. 

"Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction; for 
that alone I thank thee. And now take heed to thy 
steps: the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth 
by day, my bullet shall whistle past thee; when thou 
Hest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. 

" The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, 
and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. 
Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood ; thou 
shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with 
ashes; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will 
follow after with the scalping knife; thou shalt build 
and I will burn; — till the white man or the Indian per- 
ish from the land." 



i6 

INDIAN NAMES. 

Slgourtiey. 

Lydia Huntley Sigourney (1791-1865) was born in Connecticut. 
This is one of iier best historical poems. 

Ye say they all ha\'e passed away, 

That noble race and brave; 
That their light canoes have vanished 

From off the crested wave; 
That 'mid the forests where they roamed, 

There rings no hunter's shout; 
But their names are on yotir waters, 

Ye may not wash them out. 

They're where Ontario's billow 

Like ocean's surge is curled. 
Where strong Niagara's thunders wake 

The echo of the world. 
Where red Missouri bringeth 

Rich tribute from the West, 
And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps 

On green Virginia's breast. 

Ye say their conelike cabins, 

That clustered o'er the vale. 
Have fled away like withered leaves 

Before the autumn gale; 
But their memory liveth on your hills, 

Their baptism on your shore, 
Your everlasting rivers speak 

Their dialect of yore. 

Old Massachusetts wears it 
Upon her lordly crown, 



17 



And broad Ohio bears it 

Amid his young renown; 
Connecticut has wreathed it 

Where her quiet foHage waves; 
And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse 

Through all her ancient caves. 

Wachusett hides its lingering voice 

Within his rocky heart; 
And Alleghany graves its tone 

Throughout his lofty chart; 
Monadnock, on his forehead hoar, 

Doth seal the sacred trust; 
Your mountains build their monument, 

Though ye destroy their dust. 

Ye call these red-ljrowed brethren 

The insects of an hour, 
Crushed like the noteless worm amid 

The regions of their power; 
Ye drive them from their fathers' land, 

Ye break of faith the seal; 
But can ye from the court of Heaven 

Exclude their last appeal? 

Ye see their unresisting tribes, 

With toilsome step and slow, 
On through the trackless desert pass, 

A caravan of woe; 
Think ye the Eternal Ear is deaf? 

His sleepless vision dim? 
Think ye the soul's blood may not cry 

From that far land to Him? 

I'F.R. OUR COUNTKY — 2 




A Viking, 



19 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

Longfclloiv. 

A suit of armor, supposed to have belonged to one of the 
Northmen, was unearthed near the old tower at Newport, R. I. 
The spirit of the warrior speaks to the poet. 

" I was a Viking old! 
My deeds, though manifold, 
No Scald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse. 
Else dread a dead man's curse! 

For this I sought thee. 

" Far in the Northern land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon; 
And, wath my skates fast bound, 
Skimm'd the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

" But wdien I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew. 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led; 
Many the souls that sped. 
Many the hearts that bled, 

By our stern orders, 



20 

" Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

" She was a Prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild, 
So, though she blush'd and smiled, 

I was discarded! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the seamew's flight. 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded? 

" Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloudlike we saw the shore 

Stretching' to leeward; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour, 

Stands looking seaward. 

"There lived we many years; 
Time dried the maiden's tears; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she. lies; 



21 

Ne'er shall the sun arise 
On such another! 

" Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen! 
Hateful to me were men, 

The sunlight hateful! 
In the \ast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear. 
Fell I upon my spear, 

O, death was grateful! 

Read The Norsemen- — TF//////V;-,- Vinland — Mon/go/nefy. 



COLUMBUS. 

1492. 

Edna Dean Proctor. 

"Skilled in the globe and sphere, he gravely stands, 
And with his compass measures seas and lands." 

I will wear these chains as a memento of the gratitude of 
Princes. — Columbus. 

" God helping me," cried Columbus, " though fair or 
foul the breeze, 

T will sail and sail till I find the land beyond the western 
seas! " 

So an eagle might leave its eyrie, bent, though the blue 
should bar. 

To fold its wings on the loftiest peak of an undiscov- 
ered star! 

And into the vast and void abyss he followed the set- 
ting sun; 



22 



Nor gulfs nor gales could fright his sails, till the won- 
drous quest was done. 

But Oh! the weary vigils, the murmuring, torturing 

days. 
Till the Pinta's gun, and the shout of " Land! " set the 

black night ablaze! 
Till the shore lay fair as Paradise in morning's balm 

and gold, 
And a world was won from the conquered deep, and 

the tale of the a^'es told! 



THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS. 

DON GOMEZ AND HIS SECRETARY. 

Don Gomez. What! What is this you tell me? 
Columbus returned? A new world discovered? Im- 
possible, 

Sec. It is even so, sir. A courier arrived at the 
palace but an hour since with the intelligence. Colum- 
bus was driven by stress of weather to anchor in the 
Tagus. All Portugal is in a ferment of enthusiasm, 
and all Spain will be equally excited soon. The sensa- 
tion is prodigious. 

Don G. Oh, it is a trick! It must be a trick! 

Sec. But he has brought home the proofs of his 
visit, — gold and precious stones, strange plants and 
animals; and, above all, specimens of a new race of men, 
copper-colored, with straight hair. 

Don G. Still I say, a trick! He has been coasting 
along the African shore, and there collected a few curi- 
osities, which he is palming off for proofs of his pre- 
tended discovery. 







T ■ W/ 



"'«!sr'i::i|i!|i[i!iiiii;!;:;;;G;E'iiii[ 



','|i ' : ' 



't|/| ,t 






24 

Sec. It is a little singular that all his men should be 
leagued with him in keei)ing up so unprofitable a false- 
hood. 

Don G. But 'tis against reason, against common 
sense, that such a discovery should be made. 

Sec. King John of Portugal has received him with 
royal magnificence, has listened to his accounts, and is 
persuaded that they are true. 

Don G. We shall see, we shall see. Look you, sir, 
a plain matter-of-fact man, such as I, is not to be taken 
in by any such preposterous story. This vaunted 
discovery will turn out no discovery at all. 

Sec. The king and queen have given orders for prep- 
arations on the most magnificent scale for the recep- 
tion of Columbus. 

Don G. What delusion! Her Majesty is so credu- 
lous! A practical common sense man. like myself, can 
find no points of sympathy in her nature. 

Sec. The Indians on board the returned vessels are 
said to be unlike any known race of men. 

Don G. Very unreliable all that! I take the common 
sense view of the thing. I am a matter-of-fact man; 
and do you rememlier what I say, it will all turn out a 
trick! The crews may have been deceived. Colum- 
bus may have steered a southerly course instead of a 
westerly. Anything is probable, rather than that a 
coast to the westward of us has been discovered. 

Sec. I saw the courier, who told me he had conversed 
with all the sailors; and they laughed at the suspicion 
that there could be any mistake about the discovery, or 
that any other than a westerly course had been steered. 

Don G. Still I say, a trick! An unknown coast 
reached by steering west? Impossible.! The earth a 



25 

globe, and men standing with their heads down in space? 
Folly! An ignorant sailor from Genoa in the right, 
and all onr learned doctors and philosophers in the 
wrong? Nonsense! I'm a matter-of-fact man, sir. I 
will believe what 1 can see, and handle, and understand. 
Ijut as far as believing in the antipodes, or that the earth 
is round, or that Columbus has discovered land to the 
west — Ring the bell, sir; call my carriage; I will go to 
the palace and undeceive the king. 

As a matter of fact, the people of Spain did not know at that 
time that Columbus had discovered a new world. They sup- 
posed he had simply found a new route to the Indies. 

Read Columbus — Lowell; Columbus — • Tennyson. 



PONCE DE LEON. 

I 5 12. 

Biitterworlh. 

Hezekiah Butterworth (1839- .), author, was born at 
Warren, R. I. Read his Songs of History. 

There came to De Leon, the sailor, 

Some Indian sages, who told 
Of a region so bright that the waters 

Were sprinkled with islands of gold. 
And they added: "The leafy Bimini, 

A fair land of grottos and bowers, 
Is there; and a wonderful fountain 

Upsprings from its gardens of flowers. 
That fountain gives life to the dying. 

And youth to the aged restores; 
They flourish in beauty eternal. 

Who set but their foot on its shores! " 



26 



Then answered De Leon, the sailor: 
" I am withered, and wrinkled and old; 

I would rather discover that fountain 
Than a country of diamonds and gold." 

Away sailed De Leon, the sailor, 

Away with a wonderful glee, 
Till the birds were more rare in the azure, 

The dolphins more rare in the sea; 
Away from the shady Bahamas, 

Over waters no sailor had seen, 
Till again on his wondering vision 

Rose clustering islands of green. 
Still onward he sped till the breezes 

Were laden with odors, and lo! 
A country embedded in flowers, 

A country with rivers aglow! 
More bright than the sunny Antilles, 

More fair than the shady Azores. 
" Thank the Lord! " said De Leon, the sailor, 

As he feasted his eyes on the shores, 
" We have come to a region, my brothers, 

M'ore lovely than earth, of a truth; 
And here is the life-giving fountain, 

The beautiful fountain of youth." 

Then landed De Leon, the sailor. 

Unfurled his old banner, and sung; 
But he felt very wrinkled and withered. 

All around was so fresh and so young. 
The palms, ever verdant, were blooming. 

Their blossoms e'en margined the seas. 
O'er the streams of the forests, bright flowers 

Hung deep from the branches of trees. 



27 



" 'Tis Easter," exclaimed the old sailor; 

His heart was with rapture aflame; 
And he said: " Be the name of this region 

As Florida given to fame. 
'Tis a fair, a delectable country. 

More lovely than earth, of a truth; 
I soon shall partake of the fountain, — • 

The beautiful fountain of youth! " 

But wandered De Leon, the sailor, 

In search of that fountain in vain; 
No waters were there to restore him 

To freshness and beauty again. 
And his anchor he lifted, and murmured, 

As the tears gathered fast in his eye, 
" I must leave this fair land of the flowers, 

Go back o'er the ocean and die." 
Then back by the dreary Tortugas, 

And back by the shady Azores, 
He was borne on the storm-smitten waters 

To the calm of his own native shores. 
And that he grew older and older, 

His footsteps enfeebled gave proof; 
Still he thirsted in dreams for the fountain, - 

The beautiful fountain of youth. 

One day the old sailor lay dying 

On the shores of a tropical isle. 
And his heart was enkindled with rapture, 

And his face lighted up with a smile. 
He thought of the sunny Antilles, 

He thought of the shady Azores, 
He thought of the dreamv Bahamas, 

He thought of fair Florida's shores. 



28 



And, when in his mind he passed over 

His -wonderful travels of old, 
He thought of the heavenly country. 

Of the city of jasper and gold. 
" Thank the Lord," said De Leon, the sailor. 

" Thank the Lord for the light of the truth, 
I now am approaching the fountain, — 

The beautiful fountain of youth." 

The cabin was silent: at twilight 

Thev heard the birds singing a psalm, 
And the wind of the ocean low sighing 

Through the groves of the orange and palm. 
The sailor still lay on his pallet, 

The cool sail spread o'er him a roof. 
His soul had gone forth to discover 

The beautiful fountain of youth. 



VERRAZANI. 

1524. 
Biitlcrivorih. 



From the palm land's shades to the lands of pines, 
A Florentine crossed the Western sea; 

He sought new lands and golden mines, 

And he sailed 'neath the flag of the Fleur-de-lis. 

He saw at last, in the sunset's gold, 

A wonderful island, so fair to view. 
That it seemed like the Island of Roses old 

That his eves in his wondering boyhood knew. 

He rounded the shores of the summer sea. 

And he said, as his feet the white sands pressed. 



29 

And he planted the flag of the Fleiir-de-hs: 

"I have come to the Island of Rhodes in the West." 

While the mariners go, and the mariners come, 
And sing on lone waters the olden odes 

Of the Grecian seas and the ports of Rome, 
They ever will think of the roses of Rhodes. 

To the isle of the West he gave the name 
Of the isle he had loved in the Grecian sea; 

And the Florentine went away as he came, 
'Neath the silver flag of the Fleur-de-lis. 

Fleur-de-lis — The emblem of France. Rhodes — An island in 
the Mediterranean Sea. 



DE SOTO. 

Butterworth. 



De Soto landed at Tampa and began the ill-fated expedition in 
southern United States. He discovered the Mississippi (1541) 
and was buried in it. 

And this is Tampa: yonder lies the bay. 

That Spanish cavaliers 
Enchanted, saw' upon their unknown way 

In far and faded years. 

De Soto's hands lie deep beneath the wave, 

Dust are his cavaliers; 
The cypressed waters murmuring o'er his grave, 

The silent pilot hears. 

In that far river where they laid him down, 
Where low the ringdoves sigh. 



31 

And oft the full moon drops her silver crown 
From night's meridian sky. 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 

Longfellow. 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert was lost at sea when returning to Eng- 
land from an unsuccessful attempt at settlement in America 
(1583). 

Southward with fleet of ice 
Sailed the corsair Death; 
Wild and fast blew the blast, 

And the east wind was his breath. 

His lordly ships of ice 

Glisten in the sun; 
On each side, like pennons wide, 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea-mist 

Dripped with silver rain; 
But where he passed there were cast 

Leaden shadows o'er the main. 

Eastward from Campobello 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; 
Three days or more seaward he bore. 

Then, alas! the land-wind failed. 

Alas! the land-wind failed. 

And ice-cold grew the night; 
And nevermore, on sea or shore. 

Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 



32 



He sat upon the deck, 

The Book was in his hand; 
" Do not fear! Heaven is as near," 
He said, " by water as by land! " 

In the first watch of the night, 

Withont a signal's sound, 
Out of the sea, mysteriously, 

The fleet of Death rose all around. 

The moon and the evening star 
Were hanging in the shrouds; 

Every mast as it passed, 

Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 

They grappled with their prize. 
At midnight black and cold! 

As of a rock was the shock; 

Heavily the ground swell rolled. 

Southward through day and dark. 

They drift in close embrace. 
With mist and rain, o'er the open main; 

Yet there seems no change of place. 

Southward, forever southward, 
Thev drift through dark and day; 

And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream 
Sinking, vanish all away. 



35 



POCAHONTAS. 

SETTLEMENT OF VIRGINIA, l6oj. 

Tliackcray. 

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) was one of the 
greatest English novelists. 

Wearied arm and broken sword 
Wage in vain the desperate fight; 

Round him press a countless horde, 
He is but a single knight. 

Hark! a cry of triumph shrill 

Through the wilderness resounds. 
As, with twenty bleeding wounds, 

Sinks the warrior, fighting still. 

Now they heap the funeral pyre. 

And the torch of death they light; 
Ah! 'tis hard to die by fire! 

Who will shield the captive knight? 
Round the stake with fiendish cry 

Wheel and dance the savage crowd; 

Cold the victim's mien and proud. 
And his breast is bared to die. 

Who wall shield the fearless heart? 

Who avert the murderous blade? 
From the throng with sudden start. 

See, there springs an Indian maid. 
Quick she stands before the knight: 

" Loose the chain, unbind the ring! 

T am daughter of the king. 
And I claim the Indian right! " 

PER OUR COUNTRY "X 



34 

Dauntlessly aside she flings 
Lifted axe and thirsty knife; 

Fondly to his heart she cHngs, 
And her bosom guards his Hfe ! 

In the woods of Powhatan, 
Still 'tis told by Indian fires, 
How a daughter of their sires 

Saved a captive Englishman. 



THE MAYFLOWER. 

Everett. 

And England sent her men, of men the chief. 
Who taught these sires of Empire yet to be, 
To plant the tree of life, — to plant fair Freedom's tree. 

— Campbell. 

Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous 
vessel, the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with 
the prospects of a future state, and bound across the 
unknown sea. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand 
misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns 
rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter 
surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the 
sight of the wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily 
supplied with provisions, crowded almost to suffoca- 
tion in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pursu- 
ing a circuitous route; and now, driven in fury before 
the raging tempest, in their scarcely seaworthy vessel. 

The awful voice of the storm howls through the rig- 
ging. The laboring masts seem straining from their 
base; the dismal sound of the pump is heard; the ship 
leaps, as it were, madly from billow to billow; the ocean 
breaks, and settles with ingulfing floods over the float- 



35 

ing deck, and beats with deadening weight against the 
staggered vessel. 

I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their 
all but desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after 
a five-months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Ply- 
mouth, weak and exhausted from the voyage, poorly 
armed, scantily provisioned, depending on the charity 
of their shipmaster for a draught of beer on board, 
drinking nothing but water on shore, without shelter, 
without means, surrounded by hostile tribes. 

Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any 
principle of human probability, what shall be the fate 
of this handful of adventurers. Tell me, man of mili- 
tary science, in how many months were they all swept 
off by the thirty savage tribes enumerated within the 
boundaries of New England? Tell me, politician, how 
long did this shadow of a colony, on which your con- 
ventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on this 
distant coast? 

Student of history, compare for me the baffled pro- 
jects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adven- 
tures of other times, and find the parallel of this. Was 
it the winter's storm, beating upon the houseless heads 
of women and children? Was it hard labor and spare 
meals? Was it disease? Was it the tomahawk? Was 
it the deep malady of a blighted hope, a ruined enter- 
prise, and a broken heart, aching in its last moments 
at the recollection of the loved and left beyond the sea? 
Was it some or all of these united that hurried this for- 
saken company to their melancholy fate? 

And is it possible that neither of these causes, that 
not all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope? 
Is it possible that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so 



36 

worthy, not so much of achniration as of pity, there have 
gone forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful, 
a reahty so important, a promise yet to be fulfihed so 
glorious? 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. 

Mrs. Heina/is. 
Felicia Hemans (i 794-1 835), was born at Liverpool, England. 

Look now abroad — another race has filled 

These populous borders — wide the wood recedes, 

And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled ; 
The land is full of harvests and green meads. 

— Bryan/. 

This beautiful poem was written in commemoration of the 
landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, December 22, 1620. After a long 
and perilous voyage across the Atlantic, this '■ band of exiles 
moored their bark " in Massachusetts Bay and landed on Ply- 
mouth Rock. 

The breaking waves dashed high 

On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky 

Their giant branches tossed; 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er. 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums. 

And the trumpet that sings of fame; 



Z7 



Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear: 
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amid the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and the sea; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free. 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam. 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared: 

This was their welcome home. 

There were men watli hoary hair 

Amid that pilgrim band; 
Why had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood's land? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow, serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? 

They sought a faith's pure shrine! 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod! 
They have left unstained what there they found. 

Freedom to worship God! 




3^ 



Puritans Going to Church. 



39 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

Longfellow. 

" He's of stature somewhat low ; 
Your hero should be always tall, you know." 

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away 

to the cotuicil, 
Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his 

coming; 
While on the table before them was lying unopened a 

Bible, 
Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in 

Holland, 
And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake 

glittered, 
Filled, like a quiver, with arrows: a signal and challenge 

of warfare. 
Brought by an Indian, and speaking with arrowy 

tongues of defiance. 
This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard 

them debating 
What were an answer befitting the hostile message and 

menace. 
Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, 

objecting; 
One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the 

Elder, 
Judging it wise and well that some at least be con- 
verted. 
Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian 

behavior! 
Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart captain of 

Plymouth, 



40 

Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky 

with anger, 
" What! do you mean to make war with milk and the 

water of roses? 
Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer 

planted 
There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red 

devils? 
Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 
Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth 

of the cannon! " 
Then he advanced to the table, and thus continued dis- 
coursing: 
" Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it per- 

taineth. 
War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous, 
Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the 

challenge! " 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden con- 
temptuous gesture, 

Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and 
bullets 

Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage. 

Saying, in thundering tones: " Here, take it! this is your 
answer! " 

Silently out of the room then glided the glistening 
savage, 

Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a 
serpent. 

Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of 
the forest. 

Ho7vitzcr — Cannon. 



41 

Read The Tvvent3^-second of December — Bryant, The Em- 
barkation — Doteii; The Pilgrim Fathers — Pia-pont; The Pil- 
grim's V^ision — Hobiics; The Mayflowers — Whitticr; Interview 
with Miles Standish —Lowell. 



ROGER WILLIAMS. 

1636. 
Buticrworih. 

Why do I sleep amid the snows? 

\\' hy do the pine boughs cover me? 
While dark the wind of winter blows 

Across the Narragansett's sea. 

sense of right! O sense of right! 
Whate'er my lot in life may be, 

Thou art to me God's inner light, 

And these tired feet must follow thee. 

Yes, still my feet must onward go, 

With nothing for my hope but prayer, 

Amid the winds, amid the snow, 
And trust the ravens of the air. 

But though alone, and grieved at heart. 
Bereft of human brotherhood, 

1 trust the whole, and n.ot the part, 

And know that Providence is good. 

Self-sacrifice is never lost, 

But bears the seed of its reward: 

They who for others leave the most. 
For others gain the most from God. 



42 



sense of right! I must obey, 

And hope and trust, whate'er betide; 

1 cannot always know my way, 

But I can always know my Guide. 

And so for me the winter blows 
Across the Narragansett's sea. 

And so I sleep beneath the snows, 
And so the pine boughs cover me. 



THE COMING OF THE HUGUENOTS. 

Moragfie. 

William C. Moragne (1816-1872) was a descendant of the 
Huguenots. He lived at Abbeville, S. C. 

Individuals, led on by an ambitious desire to improve 
their personal fortunes, have abandoned the home of 
their fathers. None of these motives prompted the 
Huguenot ancestors of the people of Carolina to leave 
the delightful hills and valleys of their native France. 
They were no instruments in the hands of ambitious 
princes for the increase of their wealth or power. They 
did not seek a home in America through mere love of 
adventure, or the ordinary inducements of pecuniary 
gain. They sought an asylum from persecution, a 
home in which they might enjoy, unmolested, the 
sweets of political and personal liberty. They longed 
to bear away their altars and their faith to a land of real 
freedom, a land allowing free scope to the exercise of 
conscience in worship of their Maker. 

Their name is synonymous with patient endurance, 
noble fortitude, and high religious purpose. In revert- 



43 

ing to the period when a plain but high-soiiled, ener- 
getic people were driven, by persecutions of the Old 
World, to take refuge in this uncultivated wild, we trace 
the origin of these people, and tread upon the ashes of 
the pioneers of religion, of domestic peace, and social 
virtue. To revive the memories of the generous dead, 
to hold up to praise and emulation ancestral virtue, are 
grateful tasks, which seldom fail to achieve lasting and 
beneficial results. We look back to our fathers for 
lessons of wisdom and piety. We take pleasure in 
recalling their brave deeds and their exalted virtue. 
We like to frequent their walks and haunts. With 
pleasure we sit around the firesides at which they sat, 
and worship before the altars at which they worshipped; 
and who will quarrel with this just principle of our 
nature? 

Our Huguenot ancestors came to this country in the 
complete armor of grown up, civilized men. They had 
been raised under the auspices of an old and refined 
civilization. Their minds and hearts had undergone the 
severest discipline of an improved age and of bitter 
experience. 

Prohibited from acting in any branch of the learned 
profession, not even allowed to pursue the calling of any 
business by which to support their families, taking 
shelter in deserts and forests, with property confiscated, 
and religious worship of their choice interdicted, they 
quit their native land. Quiet and unobtrusive in their 
manners, faithful to their king, obedient to the civil and 
political laws of their country, they begged only for 
freedom in religious worship. No violence, no con- 
tempt of their rights, no harsh vituperation, could 
impair their fealty to their sovereign in all things per- 



44 

laiiiing to the legitimate claims of his station. Over 
his losses they lamented. He received from them sin- 
cere condolence for his misfortunes and fervent prayers 
for his happiness. His heart was steeled against such 
generous, simple, and truly loyal worship, and their cup 
of bitterness was full. The fiat of injured nature went 
forth. Resolved to endure no longer the oppressions 
of a home they loved so fondly, they prepared, even as 
a child still loves a parent who has mercilessly cast him 
upon the broad bosom of the world, friendless and 
penniless, to bid adieu to all they loved in their dear, 
native France, and find in America a new country, a 
real home. 



CHARLES II AND WILLIAM PENN. 

1682. 

King diaries. Well, friend William! I have sold you 
a noble province in North America; but still, I suppose, 
you have no thoughts of going thither yourself. 

Pcnii. Yes; I have, I assure thee, friend Charles; and 
I am just come to bid thee farewell. 

K. C. What! venture yourself among the savages of 
North America! Why, man, what security have you 
that you will not be in their war-kettle in two hours 
after setting foot on their shores? 

P. The best security in the world. 

K. C. T doubt that, friend William; I have no idea of 
any securitv against those cannibals but in a regiment 
of good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets. 
And mind, I tell you beforehand, that, with all my good- 
will for you and your family, to whom I am under 
obligations, I will not send a single soldier with you. 



45 

r. 1 want none of tliy soldiers, Charles; I depend on 
something" better than thy soldiers. 

K. C. Ah! what may that be? 

P. Why, I depend on themselves; on the working of 
their own hearts; on their notions of justice; on their 
moral sense. 

A'. C. A fine thing, this same moral sense, no doubt; 
but I fear you will not find nnich of it among" the Indians 
of North America. 

P. And why not among them, as well as others? 

K. C. Because if they had possessed any, they would 
not have treated my subjects so barliarously as they 
have done. 

P. That is no proof of the contrary, friend Charles. 
Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects 
first went to North America, they found these poor 
people the fondest and kindest creatures in the world. 
Every day, they would watch for them to come ashore, 
and hasten to meet them, and feast them on the best fish, 
and \enison, and corn, which were all they had. In 
return for this hospitality of the savages, as w^e call them, 
thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on their country 
and rich hunting grounds, for farms for themselves. 
Now, is it to be wondered at, that these much injured 
])eople should have been driven to desperation by such 
injustice; and that, burning with revenge, they should 
have committed some excesses? 

K. C. Well, then, I hope you will not complain when 
they come to treat you in tlie same manner, as they 
probably will. 

P. I am not afraid of it. 

K. C. Ah! how will you avoid it? You mean to get 
their hunting grounds too, I suppose? 



46 

P. Yes; but not by driving these poor people away 
from them. 

K. C. No, indeed? How then will you get their 
lands? 

P. I mean to buy their lands of them. 

K. C. Buy their lands of them? Why, man, you 
have already bought them of me. 

P. Yes, I know I have, and at a dear rate, too; but I 
did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou 
hadst any right to their lands. 

K. C. How, man? no right to their lands? 

P. No, friend Charles, no right, no right at all: what 
right hast thou to their lands? 

K. C. Why, the right of discovery, to be sure; the 
right which the Pope and all Christian kings have 
agreed to give one another. 

P. The right of discovery? A strange kind of right, 
indeed. Now, suppose, friend Charles, that some canoe 
load of these Indians, crossing the sea, and discovering 
this island of Great Britain, were to claim it as their 
own, and set it up for sale over thy head, what wouldst 
thou think of it? 

K. C. Why — why — why — I must confess, I should 
think it a piece of great impudence in them. 

P. Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a 
Christian prince too, do that which thou so utterly con- 
demnest in these people, whom thou callest savages? 
Yes, friend Charles; and suppose, again, that these 
Indians, on thy refusal to give up thy island of Great 
Britain, were to make war on thee, and, having weapons 
more destructive than thine, were to destroy many of 
thy subjects, and drive the rest away — wouldst thou 
not thing it horribly cruel? 



47 

K. C. I must say, friend William, that I should; how 
can I say otherwise? 

P. Well, then, how can I, who call myself a Christian, 
do what I should abhor even in the heathen? No. I 
will not do it. But I will buy the right of the proper 
owners, even of the Indians themselves. By doing this, 
I shall imitate God Himself, in His justice and mercy, 
and thereby insure His blessing on my colony, if I 
should ever live to plant one in North America. 



THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

IV/uV/ier. 

John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) was born in Haverhill, 
Mass. He devoted himself to social and political reforms. He had 
broad and deep sympathies with all human beings, and a keen 
appreciation of all that is characteristic in American life. 

The Quaker of the olden time! 

How calm and firm and true. 
Unspotted by its wrong and crime. 

He walked the dark earth through. 
The lust of power, the love of gain. 

The thousand lures of sin 
Arotmd him, had no power to stain 

The purity within. 

With that deep insight which detects 

All great things in the small. 
And knows each man's life affects 

The spiritual life of all, 
He walked by faith and not by sight, 

By love and not by law; 



48 



The presence of the wrong or right 
He rather felt than saw. 

He felt that wrong with wrong partakes, 

That nothing stands alone, 
That whoso gives the motive, makes 

His brother's sin his own. 
And pausing not for doubtful choice 

Of evils great or small, 
He listened to that inward voice 

Which called away from all. 

O Spirit of that early day, 

So pure and strong and true, 
Be with us in the narrow way 

Our faithful fathers knew. 
Give strength the evil to forsake. 

The cross of Truth to bear, 
And love and reverent fear to make 

Our daily lives a prayer! 



PENTUCKET. 

1708. 
Whitfier. 



How sweetly on the wood-girt town 
The mellow light of sunset shone! 
Each small, bright lake, whose waters still 
Mirror the forest and the hill, 
Reflected from its waveless breast 
The beauty of a cloudless west. 
Glorious as if a glimpse were given 
Within the western gates of heaven, 



49 

Left, by the spirit of the star 
Of sunset's holy hour, ajar! 

Beside the river's tranquil flood 
The dark and low-walled dwellings stood, 
Where many a rood of open land 
Stretched up antl down on either hand. 
With corn-leaves waving freshly green 
The thick and blackened stumps between. 
Behind, un]:>roken, deep and dread, 
The wild, untraveled forest spread. 
Back to those mountains, white and cold, 
Of which the Indian trapper told. 
Upon whose summits never yet 
Was mortal foot in safety set. 

Quiet and calm, without a fear 
Of danger darkly lurking near. 
The weary laborer left his plow. 
The milkmaid carolled by her cow; 
From cottage door and household hearth 
Rose songs of praise, or tones of mirth. 
At length the murmur died away. 
And silence on that village lay, — 
— ■ So slept Pompeii, tower and hall. 
Ere the quick earthquake swallowed all, 
Undreaming of the fiery fate 
Which made its dwellings desolate! 

Hours passed away. By moonlight sped 

The l\Terrimac a^ong his bed. 

Bathed in the pallid luster, stood 

Dark cottage-wall and rock and wood. 

Silent, beneath that tranquil beam, 

PER. OUR COUNTRY — J. 



50 

As the hushed grouping of a dream. 
Yet on the still air crept a sound, — 
No bark of fox, nor rabbit's bound, 
Nor stir of wings, nor waters flowing, 
Nor leaves in midnight breezes blowing. 

Was that the tread of many feet. 

Which downward from the hillside beat? 

What forms were those which darkly stood 

Just on the margin of the wood? — 

Charred tree-stumps in the moonlight dim, 

Or paling rude, or leafless limb? 

No, — through the trees fierce eyeballs glowed 

Dark human forms in moonshine showed, 

Wild from their native wilderness, 

With painted limbs and battle-dress! 

A yell the dead might wake to hear 
Swelled on the night air, far and clear; 
Then smote the Indian tomahawk 
On crashing door and shattering lock; 
Then rang the rifle-shot, — and then 
The shrill death-scream of stricken men, — 
Sank the red axe in woman's brain. 
And childhood's cry arose in vain. 
Bursting through roof and window came, 
Red, fast, and fierce, the kindled flame; 
And blended fire and moonlight glared 
On still dead men and scalp knives bared. 

The morning sun looked brightly through 
The river willows, wet with dew. 
No sound of combat filled the air, 



51 

No shout was heard, — nor gunshot there; 
Yet stin the thick and suhen smoke 
From smouklering ruins slowly broke; 
And on the greensward many a stain, 
And, here and there, the mangled slain, 
Told how that midnight bolt had sped, 
Pentucket, on thy fated head! 

Even now the villager can tell 
Where Rolfe beside his hearthstone fell. 
Still show the door of wasting oak. 
Through which the fatal death-shot broke, 
And point the curious stranger where 
De Rouville's corse lay grim and bare; 
Whose hideous head, in death still feared, 
Bore not a trace of hair or beard, — 
And still, within the churchyard ground, 
Heaves darkly up the ancient mound. 
Whose grass-grown surface overlies 
The victims of that sacrifice. 

Pompeii — A city of Italy, destroyed and buried by an erup- 
tion of Vesuvius, A. D. 79. De Roiiville — A French officer. 



SONG OF BRADDOCK'S MEN. 

FORT DUQUESNE, 1755. 

Anon. 

" Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colors wave ! 
And either victory, or else a grave." 

To arms, to arms! my jolly grenadiers! 

Hark how the drums do roll it along! 
To horse, to horse! with valiant good cheer; 



52 

We'll meet our proud foe before it is long. 
Let not your courage fail you; 
Be valiant, stout, and bold; 
And it will soon avail you, 
My loyal hearts of gold. 
Huzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah! 
'Tis nobly done, — the day's our own — huzzah, 
huzzah ! 

March on, march on! brave Braddock leads the fore- 
most; 
The battle is begun, as you may fairly see, 
Stand firm, be bold, and it will soon be over. 

We'll soon gain the field from our proud enemy. 
A squadron now appears, my boys, 

If that they do but stand! 
Boys, never fear, be sure you mind 
The word of command. 
Huzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah! 
'Tis nobly done, — the day's our own — huzzah, 
huzzah! 

See how, see how, they break and fly before us! 

See how they are scattered all over the plain! 
Now, now — • now, now our country will adore us! 
In peace and in triumph, boys, when we return again! 
Then laurels shall our glory crown 

For all our actions l)old: 
The hills shall echo all around. 
My loyal hearts of gold. 
Huzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah! 
'Tis nobly done, — the day's our own — huzzah, 
huzzah! 



53 



ACADIA. 

Longfellow. 

In the xA.cadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, 
Distant, seckided, still, the little village of Grand Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to 

the eastward, 
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks with- 
out number. 
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with 

labor incessant, 
Shut out the turl^ulent tides; but at stated seasons the 

flood-gates 
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the 

meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards 

and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away 

to the nortliward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests okb and aloft on the 

mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty 

Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station 

descended. 
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian 

village. 

This is the forest primeval; Init where are the hearts 

that beneath it 
I^eaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the 

voice of the huntsman? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian 

farmers, — 



54 

Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the 

woodlands, 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image 

of heaven? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever 

departed! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts 

of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far 

o'er the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of 

Grand Pre. 

Acadia — Formerly New Brunswick and the adjacent islands, 
now Nova Scotia. Basin of Minas — In Acadia. Gratid Pre — 
Village in Acadia. 



DEATH OF WOLFE. 

QUEBEC, 1759. 
A7ton. 

With foes surrounded, midst the shades of death. 
These were the last words that closed the warrior's 

breath: 
" My eyesight fails! — but does the foe retreat? 
If they retire, I'm happy in my fate! " 
A generous chief, to whom the hero spoke. 
Cried, "Sir, they fly! — their ranks entirely broke; 
Whilst thy bold troops o'er slaughtered heaps advance, 
And deal due vengeance on the sons of France." 
The pleasing truth recalls his parting soul, 
And from his lips these dying accents stole: 
" I'm satisfied! " he said, then winged his way, 
Guarded by angels, to celestial day. 



55 



AMERICA'S OBLIGATION TO ENGLAND. 

Barrt. 

This is an extract from a speech in the British House of 
Commons, by Col. Isaac Barre (i 726-1 802), who was one of the 
warmest friends of the American colonists. He had himself 
visited America, having taken part in the French and Indian 
war, and having been adjutant general of Wolfe's army, that 
assailed Quebec. This fact will explain an allusion in the last 
part of the speech. 

The honorable member has asked, " And now will 
these Americans, children planted by our care, nour- 
ished up by our indulgence, and protected by our arms, 
— will they grudge to contribute their mite?" They 
planted by your care! No! Your oppressions planted 
them in America. They fled from your tyranny to a 
then uncultivated and inhospitable country, where they 
exposed themselves to almost all the hardships to which 
human nature is liable; and yet, actuated by principles 
of true English liberty, our American brethren met these 
hardships with pleasure, compared with those they suf- 
fered in their own country from the hands of those that 
should have been their friends. 

They nourished by your indulgence! They grew by 
your neglect! As soon as you began to care about 
them, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule 
them, — men whose behavior, on many occasions, has 
caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within 
them. 

They protected by your arms! They have nobly taken 
up arms in your defense: have exerted a valor, amid 
their constant and laborious industry, for the defense 
of a country whose frontier was drenched in blood, while 



56 

its interior parts yielded all its little savings to your 
emolument. And, believe me, the very same spirit of 
freedom which actuated that people at first will accom- 
pany them still. 

Heaven knows I do not at this time speak from 
motives of party heat. What I deliver are the genuine 
sentiments of my heart. However superior to me in 
general knowledge and experience the respectable body 
of this House may be, yet I claim to know more of 
America than most of you, having seen that country, 
and been conversant with its affairs. The people, I 
believe, are as truly loyal as any su1)ject^s the king has; 
but they are a people jealous of their liberties, and who, 
if those liberties should ever be violated, will vindicate 
them to the last drop of their blood. 



NEW ENGLAND'S CHEVY CHASE. 

Hale. 

Edward Everett Hale (1822- ), a famous Boston preacher 
and author. One of his most popular works is "The Man 
Without a Country." 

" The love of liberty with life is ^iven, 
And life itself the inferior gift of heaven." 

'Twas the dead of night. By the pine knot's red light 
Brooks lay half asleep, when he heard the alarm — 

Only this, and no more, from a voice at the door: 
'' The redcoats are out and have passed Phipps's 
farm!" 

Brooks was booted and spurred, he said never a word; 
Took his horn from its peg, and his gun from the 
rack; 



57 

To the cold midnight air he led out his white mare, 
Strapped the girths and the bridle and sprang to her 
back. 

Up the north country road at her full pace she strode, 
Till Brooks reined her up at John Tarbell's to say: 

" We have got the alarm — they have left Phipps's farm; 
You rouse the East Precinct, and Pll go this way." 

John called his hired man, and they harnessed the span; 

They roused Abram Garfield, and Garfield called me. 
" Turn out right away, let no minuteman stay — 

The redcoats have landed at Phipps's! " says he. 

By the Powder House green seven others fell in; 

At Nahum's the men from the sawmill came down; 
So that when Jabez Bland gave his word of command 

And said, " Forward march! " there marched forward 
the town. 

Parson Wilderspin stood by the side of the road. 

And he took off his hat, and he said, " Let us pray! 

O Lord, God of might, let thine angels of light 
Lead thy children to-night to the glories of day! 

And let thy stars fight all the foes of the right 
As the stars fought of old against Sisera." 

And from heaven's high arch those stars blessed our 
march 
Till the last of them faded in twilight away. 
And with morning's bright beam, by the bank of the 
stream, 
Half the country marched in, and we heard Davis 
say: 



58 

" On the king's own highway I may travel all day, 
And no man hath warrant to stop me," says he, 

" I've no man that's afraid, and I'll march at their head," 
Then he turned to the boys — "Forward march! 
Follow me." 

And we marched as he said, and the piper he played 
The old " White Cockade," and he played it right 
well. 
We saw Davis fall dead, but no man was afraid — 
That bridge we'd have had, though a thousand men 
fell. 

This opened the play, and it lasted all day, 

We made Concord too hot for the redcoats to stay. 

Down the Lexington way we stormed — black, white 

and gray; 
We were first at the feast and were last in the fray. 

They would turn in dismay as red wolves turn at bay. 
They levelled, they fired, they charged up the road; 

Cephas Willard fell dead, he was shot in the head 
As he knelt by Aunt Prudence's well sweep to load. 

John Danforth was hit just iji Lexington street, 

John Bridge at the lane where you cross Beaver falls; 

And Winch and the Snows just above John Monroe's — 
Swept away by one sweep of the big cannon balls. 

I took Bridge on my knee, but he said: " Don't mind 

me ; 
Fill your horn from mine — let me lie as I be. 
Our fathers," says he, " that their sons might be free. 
Left the king on his throne and came over the sea; 



59 

And that man is a knave or a fool who to save 
His hfe for a minute would live like a slave." 

Well ! all would not do. There were men good as new — 
From Rumford, from Saugus, from towns far away, 

Who filled up quick and well for each soldier that fell, 
And we drove them, and drove them, and drove them 
all day. 

We knew every one it was war that begun 

When that morning's marching was only half done. 

In the hazy twilight at the coming of night 

I crowded three buckshot and one bullet down. 

'Twas my last charge of lead, and I aimed her and said: 
" Good luck to you, lobsters, in old Boston town." 

In a barn at Milk Row Ephraim Bates and Thoreau 
And Baker and Abram and I made a bed ; 

We had mighty sore feet, and we'd nothing to eat, 
But we'd driven the redcoats, and Amos, he said: 

" It's the first time," said he, " that it's happened to me 
To march to the sea by, this road where we've come; 

But confound this whole day, but we'd all of us say 
We'd rather have spent it this way than to home." 

The hunt had begun with the dawn of the sun. 

And night saw the wolf driven back to his den. 
And .never since then in the memorv of man, 

Has the old Bay State seen such a hunting again. 

Che7>y Chase — A famous ballad describing an aftray between 
the Douglas and the Percy on the Scottish Border. 



6o 

LEXINGTON 

APRIL 19, 1775. 

Homics. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894), was for many years a pro- 
fessor at Harvard. He was a brilliant and versatile writer both 
in verse and in prose. 

" O ! how great for our country to die, 
In the front rank to perish, 
Firm with our breast to the foe 
Victory's shout in our ears." 

Slowly the mist o'er the meadow was creeping, 
Bright on the dewy buds glistened the stm, 
When from his cotich while his children were sleeping, 
Rose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun. 

Waving her golden veil 

Over the silent dale, 
Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire; 

Hushed was his parting sigh, 

While from his noble eye 
Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's fire. 

On the smooth green, where the fresh leaf is springing, 

Calmly the firstborn of glory have met. 
Hark! the death-volley around them is ringing! 
Look! with their lifeblood the young grass is wet! 
Faint is the feeble breath, 
Mtu'mtiring low in death, — ■ 
" Tell to otir sons how their fathers have died; " 
Nerveless the iron hand. 
Raised for its native land, 
Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side. 



6i 



Over the hillsides the wild knell is tolling, 

From their far hamlets the yeomanry come; 
As through the storm-clouds the thunderburst rolling, 
Circles the beat of the mustering drum. 

Fast on the soldier's path 

Darken the waves of wrath, 
Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall; 

Red glares the musket's flash, 

Sharp rings the rifle's crash 
Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall. 

Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, 

Never to shadow his cold brow again; 
Proudly at morning the war steed was prancing. 
Reeking and panting he droops on the rein; 

Pale is the lip of scorn, 

Voiceless the trumpet horn. 
Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high; 

Many a belted breast 

Low on the turf shall rest, 
Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by. 

Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving. 

Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail. 
Wilds where the fern by the furrow is weaving, 
Reeled with the echoes that rode on the gale; 

Far as the tempest thrills 

Over the darkened hills. 
Far as the sunshine streams over the plain, 

Roused by the tyrant band. 

Woke all the mighty land. 
Girded for battle, from mountain to main. 

Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying! 
Shroudless and tombless they sank to their rest, — 



62 



While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying 

Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest! 

Borne on her Northern pine, 

Long o'er the foaming brine, 
Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun: 

Heaven keep her ever free, 

Wide as o'er land and sea 
Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won! 

Eagle — The American emblem. 
Read Lexington — Whittier. 



THE REVOLUTIONARY ALARM. 

Bancroft. 

George Bancroft (i 800-1 891), our most eminent American 
historian, was born in Worcester, Mass. 

" Can any heart unfaithful be, 

To our fair country in her need .'' 
Can any stimulus require 
To noble thought and worthy deed ? " 

Darkness closed upon the country and upon the 
town, but it -was no night for sleep. Heralds on swift 
relays of horses transmitted the war message from hand 
to hand, till village repeated it to village; the sea to the 
backwoods; the plains to the highlands; and it was 
never suffered to droop till it had been borne North, 
and South, and East, and West, throughout the land. 

It spread over the bays that receive the Saco and the 
Penobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the 
trappers of New Hampshire, and, ringing like bugle- 
notes from peak to peak, overleapt the Green Moun- 
tains, swept onward to Montreal, and descended the 
ocean river, till the responses were echoed from the 



63 

cliffs of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to 
one another the tale. 

As the s*mimons hurried to the South, it was one day 
at New York; in one more at Philadelphia; the next it 
lighted a watch fire at Baltimore; thence it waked an 
answer at Annapolis. Crossing the Potomac near 
Mount Vernon, it was sent forward without a halt to 
Williamsburg. It traversed the Dismal Swamp to Nan- 
semond, along the route of the first emigrants to North 
Carolina. It moved onwards and still onwards, through 
boundless groves of evergreen, to Newberne and to 
Wilmington. 

" For God's sake, forward it by night and by day," 
wrote Cornelius Harnett, by the express which sped 
for Brunswick. Patriots of South Carolina caught up 
its tones at the border and despatched it to Charleston, 
and through pines and palmettos and moss-clad live 
oaks, farther to the South, till it resounded among the 
New England settlements beyond Sa'Siannah. 

The Blue Ridge took up the voice, and made it heard 
from one end to the other of the valley of Virginia. 
The Alleghanies, as they listened, opened their barriers, 
that the " loud call " might pass through to the hardy 
riflemen on the Holston, the Watauga, and the French 
Broad. Ever renewing its strength, powerful enough 
even to create a commonwealth, it breathed its inspiring- 
word to the first settlers of Kentucky; so that hunters 
who made their halt in the matchless valley of the Elk- 
horn commemorated the 19th day of April, 1775, by 
naming their encampment Lexington. 

With one impulse the colonies sprung to arms; with 
one spirit they pledged themselves to each other " to be 
ready for the extreme event." With one heart the con- 
tinent cried, " Liberty or Death! " 



64 



LEXINGTON. 

Irving. 

Washington Irving (1783-1859) was born in New York, N. Y. 
His style is marked by delicacy and refinement. His most 
popular work is the "Sketch-book." 

" For Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son. 
Though batified oft, is ever won." 

The cry of blood from the field of Lexington went 
through the land. None felt the appeal more than the 
old soldiers of the French war. It roused John Stark, 
of New Hampshire — a trapper and hunter in his youth, 
a veteran in Indian warfare; a campaigner under- Aber- 
crombie and Amherst, now the military oracle of a rustic 
neighborhood. Within ten minutes after receiving the 
alarm, he was spurring towards the seacoast, and on the 
way stirring up the volunteers of the Massachusetts 
borders to assemble forthwith at Bedford, in the vicinity 
of Boston. 

Equally alert was his old comrade in frontier exploits, 
Colonel Israel Putnam. A man on horseback, with a 
drum, passed through his neighborhood, in Connecti- 
cut, proclaiming British violence at Lexington. Put- 
nam was in the field ploughing, assisted by his son. 
In an instant the team was unyoked, the plough left in 
the furrows; the lad sent home to give word of his 
father's departure, and Putnam, on horseback, in his 
working garb, urging with all speed to the camp. Such 
was the spirit aroused throughout the country. The 
sttirdy yeomanry, from all parts, were hastening towards 
Boston, with such weapons as were at hand; and happy 



65 

was he who could command a rusty fowHng piece and a 
powder horn. 

Abercj-oDibie and Amherst — Generals in the French and Indian 
War. 



CONCORD FIGHT. 

Emerson. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), poet and philosopher, 
was born in Concord, Mass. His essays have been said to be 
"the most important prose work of the nineteenth century." 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

The foe long since in silence slept; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 

On the green bank, by this soft stream. 

We set to-day a votive stone; 
That memory may her dead redeem. 

When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
To die, and leave their children free, 

Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
The shaft we raise to them and thee. 

PER. OUR COUNTRY — <^ 







66 



Father and Sons for Liberty. 



6/ 

THE MINUTEMAN. 

Curtis. 

George William Curtis (i 824-1 892) was born in Providence, 
R. I. He was a man of broad culture and as author, editor and 
lecturer exerted a powerful influence on the public afYairs of his 
time. He was one of the first to advocate civil service reform 
and some of his most notable addresses were on that subject. 
His writings are full of kindly humor and his style is charming. 

Two hundred years ago, Mary Shepherd, a girl 
of fifteen, was watching the savages on the hills of 
Concord, while her brothers thrashed in the barn. 
Suddenly the Indians appeared, slew the brothers, and 
carried her away. In the night, while the savages 
slept, she tnitied a stolen horse, slipped a saddle from 
under the head of one of her captors, mounted, fled, 
swam the Nashua river, and rode throtigh the forest, 
home. Mary Shepherd was the true ancestor of the 
minuteman of the Revolution. 

The minuteman of the Revolution! who was he? 
He was the husband, the father, who left the plow in 
the fiuTOw, the hammer on the bench, and kissing wife 
and children, marched to die or to be free. The 
minuteman of the Revolution! He was the old, the 
middle-aged, the young. He was Captain Miles, of 
Acton, wdio reproved his men for jesting on the march. 
He was Deacon Josiah Haines, of Sudbury, eighty years 
old, who marched with his company to South Bridge, 
at Concord, then joined in that hot pursuit to Lexing- 
ton, and fell as gloriously as Warren at Bunker Hill. 

He was James Hayward, of Acton, twenty-two 
years old, foremost in that deadly race from Concord 
to Charlestown, who raised his piece at the same 



68 



moment with a British soldier, each exclaiming, " You 
are a dead man." The Briton dropped, shot through 
the heart. Young Hayward fell, mortally wounded. 
"Father," said he, "I started with forty balls; I have 
three left. I never did such a day's work before. Tell 
mother not to mourn too much, and tell her whom 1 
love more than my mother, that I am not sorry I turned 
out." 

This was the minuteman of the Revolution! The 
rural citizen, trained in the common school, the town 
meeting, who carried a bayonet that thought, and 
whose gun, loaded wdth a principle, brought down not 
a man, but a system. With brain, and heart, and con- 
science all alive, he opposed every hostile order of the 
British council. The cold Grenville, the brilliant Town- 
shend, the reckless Hillsborough derided, declaimed, 
denounced, laid unjust taxes, and sent troops to collect 
them, and the plain Boston Puritan laid his finger on 
the vital point of the tremendous controversy, and held 
to it inexorably. 

Intrenched in his own honesty, the king's gold 
could not buy him. Enthroned in the love of his fellow- 
citizens, the king's writ could not take him. And when, 
on the morning at Lexington, the king's troops 
marched to seize him, his sublime faith saw, beyond the 
clouds of the moment, the rising sun of America, and 
careless of himself, mindful only of his country, he 
exultingly exclaimed, " Oh, what a glorious morning! " 
He felt that a blow would soon be struck that would 
break the heart of British tyranny. His judgment, his 
conscience, told him the hour had come. 

Grenville, Townshend and Hillsborough were English states- 
men. 



69 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 

Bryant. 

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was born in Cummington, 
Mass. He is best known by Thanatopsis, a poem written when 
he was only eighteen years of age. 

Here patriots live, who for their country's good, 
In fighting fields were prodigal of blood. — Dryden. 

Ethan Allen and Benedict Arnold captured Ticonderoga and 
Crown Point May 10, 1775. The soldiers from Vermont were 
called Green Mountain Boys. 

Here halt we onr march, and pitch our tent, 

On the rugged forest ground, 
And Hght our fire with branches rent 

By winds from the l:)eeches round. 
Wild storms have torn this ancient wood, 

But a wilder is at hand. 
With hail of iron and rain of blood, 

To sweep and waste the land. 

How the dark wood rings with our voices shrill, 

That startle the sleeping bird! 
To-morrow eve must the voice be still. 

And the step must fall unheard. 
The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, 

In Ticonderoga's towers, 
And ere the sun rise twice again 

Must they and the lake be ours. 

Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides 

Where the fireflies light the brake, 
A ruddier juice the Briton hides 

In his fortress by the lake. 



10 



Build high the fire, till the panther leap 

From his lofty perch in flight, 
And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep 

For the deeds of to-morrow night. 



BUNKER HILL. 

Webster. 



Daniel Webster (1782-1852) an orator and statesman, was 
born in Salisbury, N. H. His literary fame rests on his 
numerous orations. 

Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable. 

— Webster. 

It is not as a mere military encounter of hostile armies 
that the battle of Bunker Hill presents its principal claim 
to attention. Yet, even as a mere battle, there were 
circumstances attending it, extraordinary in character, 
and entitling it to peculiar distinction. It was fought 
on this eminence, in the neighborhood of yonder city, 
in the presence of many more spectators than there were 
combatants in the conflict. Yet on the i6th of June, 
1775, there was nothing around this hill but verdure 
and culture. There was, indeed, the note of awful 
preparation in Boston. There was the Provincial army 
at Cambridge, but here all was peace. On the 17th, 
everything was changed. On this eminence had arisen, 
in the night, a redoubt, built by Prescott, and in which 
he held command. Perceived by the enemy at dawn, 
it was immediately cannonaded from the floating bat- 
teries in the river, and from the opposite shore. And 
then ensued the hurried movement in Boston; and soon 
the troops of Britain embarked in the attempt to dis- 
lodge the colonists. In an hour everything indicated 



71 

an immediate and bloody conflict. Love of liberty on 
one side, proud defiance of rebellion on the other, hopes 
and fears, and courage and daring, on both sides, ani- 
mated the hearts of the combatants as they hung on the 
edge of battle. 

I will not attempt to describe that battle. The can- 
nonading, the landing of the British, their advance, the 
coolness with wdiich the charge was met, the repulse, 
the burning of Charlestown, and finally the closing 
assault and the slow retreat of the Americans, — the 
history of all these is familiar. 

But the consequences of the battle of Bunker Hill 
were greater than those of any ordinary conflict, 
although between armies of far greater force, and ter- 
minating with more immediate advantage on the one 
side or the other. It was the first great battle of the 
Revolution, and not only the first blow, but the blow 
which determined the contest. It did not, indeed, put 
an end to the war; but, in the then existing hostile state 
of feeling, the difificulties could only be referred to the 
arbitration of the sword. And one thing is certain, — 
that, after the New England troops had shown them- 
selves able to face and repulse the regulars, it was decided 
that peace never could be established but upon the basis 
of the independence of the colonies. When the sun 
of that day went down, the event of independence was 
no longer doubtful. In a few days Washington heard 
of the battle, and he inquired if the militia had stood 
the fire of the regulars. When told that they had not 
only stood that fire, but reserved their own till the 
enemy was within eight rods, and then poured it in with 
tremendous efTect, " Then," exclaimed he, " the lil^er- 
ties of the country are safe." 



72 



WARREN'S ADDRESS. 

Pierpoiit. 

Rev. John Pierpont (1785-1866), an American clergyman and 
poet. 

Joseph Warren was born at Roxbury, Mass., June 11, I74r, 
graduated at Harvard college in 1759, and began the practice of 
medicine in 1764. He was one of the patriots who stood out 
against the first British aggressions. In 1774 he was President 
of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress, and the following 
year was made a major general. At the battle of Bunker Hill 
he served as a volunteer, musket in hand, although the chief 
command was oflered to him. He was killed in this action. 
Before the battle he said to a friend, "I know that I may fall, 
but Where's the man who does not think it glorious and delight- 
ful to die for his country } " 

Strike for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike for the green gr;ives of your sires, 
God and your native land ! — Halleck. 

Stand! the groiind's your own, my braves, 
Will ye give it up to slaves? 
Will ye look for greener graves? 

Hope ye mercy still? 
What's the mercy despots feel? 
Hear it in that battle peal, 
Read it on yon bristling steel. 

Ask it, ye who will! 

Fear ye foes who kill for hire? 
Will ye to your homes retire? 
Look behind you! they're afire! 

And before you, see 
Who have done it! From the vale 
On they come! and will ye quail? — 
Leaden rain and iron hail 

Let their welcome be! 



7?> 

In the God of battles trust! 
Die we may — and die we must; 
But, oh, where can dust to dust 

Be consigned so well. 
As where heaven its dews shall shed 
On the martyred patriot's bed, 
And the rocks shall raise their head. 

Of his deeds to tell? 

Read Grandmother's Story of the Battle of Bunker Hill — Holmes 



THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. 

Williaiii R. Wallace. 

Waterloo was for Britons — 

Bunker Hill is for man ! — Bayard Taylo? 

He lay upon his dying bed. 

His eye was growing dim. 
When, with a feeble voice, he called 

His weeping son to him: 
" Weep not, my boy," the veteran said, 

" I bow to Heaven's high will; 
But quickly from yon antlers bring 

The sword of Bunker Hill." 

The sw^ord was brought ; the soldier's eye 

Lit with a sudden flame; 
And, as he grasped the ancient blade. 

He murmured Warren's name; 
Then said, " My boy, I leave you gold, 

But what is richer still, 
I leave you, mark me. mark me, now. 

The sword of Bunker Hill. 



74 



" 'Twas on that dread, immortal day, 

I dared the Briton's band, 
A captain raised his blade on me, 

I tore it from his hand; 
And while the glorious battle raged. 

It lightened Freedom's will; 
For, boy, the God of Freedom blessed 

The sword of Bunker Hill." 

" Oh! keep this sword," his accents broke, — 

A smile — and he was dead ; 
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade, 

Upon that dying bed. 
The son remains, the sword remains. 

Its glory growing still. 
And twenty millions bless the sire 

And sword of Bunker Hill. 



WASHINGTON. 

Byron. 



" O courage ! there he comes; 
What ray of honor round him looms !'' 

Where may the wearied eye repose, 

When gazing on the great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows, 

Nor despicable state? 
Yes, one, — the first, the last, the best. 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

Whom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeathed the name of Washington, 
To make man blush there was but one. 



75 

The allusion in the expressions " guilty glory " and " despicable 
state ' is to Napoleon, with whose character the author is con- 
trasting that of Washington. 

Cincinnatus — This old Roman farmer and patriot was called 
from his plow (B. C. 458) to save the Roman army, being made 
dictator. He defeated the enemy, and after holding supreme 
power for only sixteen days returned to his farm. 

The West — -The New World. T/ie Cincimiaius of the West — 
The patriot of America. 



UNDER THE OLD ELM. 

LoweU. 

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891), a distinguished scholar and 
poet, was born in Cambridge, Mass. 

Poem read at Cambridge on the hundredth anniversary of 
Washington's taking command of the American army 3d July, 
J775- 

Beneath our consecrated elm a century ago he stood, 

Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood, 

Whose red surge sought but cotild not overwhelm 

The life foredoomed to wield our roughhewn helm: — 

From colleges, where now the gown 

To arms had yielded, from the town, 

Our rude self-summoned levies fiocked to see 

The new-come chiefs, and wonder which was he. 

No need to question long: close-lipped and tall. 

Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone 

To bridle others' clamors and his own. 
Firmly erect, he towered above them all. 

The incarnate discipline that was to free 

With iron curb that armed democracy. 
Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; 
High-poised example of great duties done 
Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn, 




76 




^^rk 



77 

As life's indifferent gifts to all men born; 
Dumb for himself, imless it were to God, 

But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent. 
Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, 

Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content; 
Modest, yet firm as nature's self, unblamed 
Save by the men his nobler nature shamed. 
Not honored then or now because he wooed 
The popular voice, but that he still withstood; 
Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one 
Who was all this and ours, and all men's • — - Wash- 
ington. 



WASHINGTON. 

Parker. 



Theodore Parker (1810-1860) was a popular American 
lecturer. 

In his person, Washington was six feet high, and 
rather slender. His limbs were long; his hands were 
uncommonly large, his chest broad and full, his head 
was exactly round, and the hair brown in manhood, l)ut 
gray at fifty; his forehead rather low and retreating, the 
nose large and massy, the mouth wide and firm, the 
chin square and heavy, the cheeks full and ruddv in early 
life. His eyes were blue and handsome, but not quick 
or nervous. He required spectacles to read with at 
fifty. He was one of the best riders in the United 
States, but, like some other good riders, awkward and 
shambling in his walk. He was stately in his bearing, 
reserved, distant, and apparently haughty. 

Shy among- women, he was not a great talker in 
any company, but a careful observer and listener. He 



78 

read the natural temper of men, but not always aright. 
He seldom smiled. He did not laugh with his face, but 
in his body, and, while calm above, below the diaphragm 
his laughter was copious and earnest. Like many 
grave persons, he was fond of jokes, and loved humor- 
ous stories. He had negro story-tellers to regale him 
with fun and anecdotes at Mount Vernon. He was not 
critical about his food, but fond of tea. He took beer 
or cider at dinner, and occasionally wine. He hated 
drunkenness, gaming, and tobacco. He had a hearty 
love of farming and of private life. 

There was nothing of the politician in him, — no 
particle of cunning. He was one of the most indus- 
trious of men. Not an elegant or accurate writer, he 
yet took great pains with style, and after the Revolu- 
tion carefully corrected the letters he had written in the 
time of the French War, more than thirty years before. 

He was no orator, like Jefferson, Franklin, Madi- 
son, and others, who had great influence in American 
affairs. He never made a speech. The public papers 
were drafted for him. and he read them when the occa- 
sion came. 

It has been said Washington was not a great 
soldier; but certainly he created an army out of the 
roughest materials, out-generaled all that Britain could 
send against him, and in the midst of poverty and dis- 
tress, organized victory. He was not brilliant and 
rapid. He was slow, defensive, victorious. He made 
" an empty bag stand upright," which Franklin says is 
" hard." 

Some men command the world, or hold its admira- 
tion by their ideas or by their intellect. Washington 
had neither original ideas nor a deeply cultured mind. 



79 

He commands by his integrity, by his justice. He 
loved power by instinct, and strong government by 
reflective choice. Twice he was made Dictator, with 
absolute power, and never abused the awful and 
despotic trust. The monarchic soldiers and civilians 
would make him king. He trampled on their offer, 
and went back to his fields of corn at Mount Vernon. 

Washington is the first man of his type: when will 
there be another! As yet the American rhetoricians 
do not dare tell half his excellence; but the people 
should not complain. 

Cromwell is the greatest Anglo-Saxon who was 
ever a ruler on a large scale. In intellect he was 
immensely superior to Washington; in integrity, im- 
measurable below him. For one thousand years no 
king in Christendom has shown such greatness, or gives 
us so high a type of manly virtue. He never dis- 
sembled. He sought nothing for himself. In him 
there was no unsound spot, nothing little or mean in 
his character. The whole was clean and presentable. 
We think better of mankind because he lived, adorning 
the earth with a life so noble. His glory already covers 
the continent. More than two hundred places bear his 
name. He is revered as the father of his country. The 
people are his memorial. 

The New York Indians hold this tradition of him. 
" Alone of all white men," say they, " he has been 
admitted to the Indian heaven, because of his justice to 
the red men. He lives in a great palace, built like a 
fort. All the Indians, as they go to heaven, pass by, 
and he himself is in his uniform, a sword at his side, 
walking to and fro. They bow reverently, and with 
great humility. He returns the salute, but says noth- 



8o 



iiig." Such is the reward of his justice to the red men. 
God be thanked for such a man! 
Cromwell — The English ruler after Charles I. 



FRANKLIN'S EPIGRAMS, ETC. 

Benjamin Franklin (1706- 1790), an illustrious patriot, states- 
man and philosopher. 

We must all hang together, or assuredly we shah all 
hang separately. 

LETTER TO STRAHAN. 

Philad A, July 5, 1775. 
Mr. Strahan, 

You are a Member of Parliament, and one of that Majority 
which has doomed my Country to Destruction. — You have 
begun to burn our Towns, and murder our People.— Look upon 
your Hands! — They are stained with the Blood of your Rela- 
tions. — You and I were long Friends. — You are now my 
Enemy, — and 

I am, Yours, 

B. Franklin. 

"POOR RICHARD'S SAYINGS." 

If pride leads the van, beggary brings up the rear. 

He that can travel well afoot keeps a good horse. 

Some men grow mad by studying much to know, but 
who grows mad by studying good to grow? 

Whate'er's begun in anger ends in shame. 

He that falls in love with himself will have no rivals. 

Against diseases, know the strongest defensive virtue, 
abstinence. 

Sloth maketh all things difficult; industry, all easy. 

If you would have a faithful servant, and one that you 
like, serve yourself. 



8i 



A mob is a monster; with heads enough, but no 
brains. 

There is nothing humbler than ambition when it is 
about to chmb. 

The discontented man finds no easy chair. 

When prosperity was well mounted, she let go the 
bridle, and soon came tumbling out of the saddle. 

A little neglect may breed great mischief. For want 
of a nail the shoe was lost, and for want of a shoe the 
horse was lost, and for want of a horse the rider was 
lost. 

A false friend and a shadow attend only while the sun 
shines. 

Plough deep wdiile sluggards sleep, and you shall have 
corn to sell and keep. 

Old boys have playthings as well as young ones; the 
difference is only in price. 

If you would keep a secret from an enemy, tell it not 
to a friend. 
. One to-day is w^orth two to-morrows. 

It is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repent- 
ance. 



BOSTON COMMON — THREE PICTURES. 

Holmes. 
1630. 

All overgrown with bush and fern, 

And straggling clumps of tangled trees. 

With trunks that lean and boughs that turn, 
Bent eastward by the mastering breeze. 

PER. OUR COUNTRY — 6 



82 



With spongy bogs that (h'ip and fill 

A yellow pond with muddy rain, 
Beneath the shaggy southern hill 

Lies wet and low the Shawmut plain. 
And hark! the trodden branches crack, 

A crow flaps off with startled scream ; 
A straying woodchuck canters back; 

A bittern rises from the stream; 
Leaps from his lair a frightened deer; 

Another plunges in the pool; — 
Here comes old Shawmut's pioneer, 

The parson on his brindled bull! 

1774. 
The streets are thronged with trampling feet, 

The northern hill is ridged with graves. 
By night and morn the drum is beat 

To frighten down the " rebel knaves." 
The stones of King street still are red. 

And yet the bloody redcoats come; 
I hear their pacing sentry's tread, 

The click of steel, the tap of drum. 
And over all the open green. 

Where grazed of late the harmless kine, 
The cannon's deepening ruts are seen, 

The war horse stamps, the bayonets shine. 
The clouds are dark with crimson rain 

Above the murderous hireling's den, 
And soon their whistling showers shall stain 

The pipeclayed belts of Gage's men. 

i860. 

Around the green, in morning light, 
The spired and palaced summits blaze. 



83 

And, sunlike, from her Beacon height 

The dome-crowned city spreads her rays. 
They span the waves, they beh the plains, 

They skirt the roads with bands of white. 
Till with a flash of gilded panes 

Yon farther hillside bonnds the sight. 
Peace, Freedom, Wealth! no fairer view. 

Though with the wild bird's restless wings 
We sailed beneath the noontide's blue, 

Or chased the moonlight's endless rings! 
Here, fitly raised by grateful hands, 

His holiest memory to recall, 
The Hero's, Patriot's image stands; 

He led our sires who won them all! 



THE RISING OF '76. 

Read. 

Thomas Buchanan Read (1822-1873), an artist and poet, was 
born in Chester county. Pa. 

" Freedom has a thousand charms to show, 
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know/ 

Out of the North the wild news came, 

Far flashing on its wings of flame. 

Swift as the boreal light that flies 

At midnight through the startled skies. 

And there w^as tumult in the air. 

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, 

And through the wide land everywhere 

The answering tread of hurrying feet; 

While the first oath of Freedom's gun 

Came on the blast from Lexington ; 



84 



And Concord, roused, no longer tame, 
Forgot her old baptismal name, 
Made bare her patriot arm of power, 
And swelled the discord of the hour. 

Within its shade of elm and oak 

The church of Berkeley Manor stood; 

There Sunday found the rural folk, 

And some esteemed of gentle blood. 

In vain their feet with loitering tread 

Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught; 

All could not read the lesson taught 

In that republic of the dead. 

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, 
The vale with peace and sunshine full, 

Where all the happy people walk, 

Decked in their homespun flax and wool! 

Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom. 
And every maid, with simple art, 
Wears on her breast, like her own heart, 

A bud whose depths are all perfume; 
While every garment's gentle stir 
Is breathing rose and lavender. 

The pastor came: his snowy locks 

Hallowed his brow of thought and care; 

And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, 
He led into the house of prayer. 

The pastor rose; the praver was strong; 

The psalm was warrior David's song; 

The text, a few short words of might, — 

*' The Lord of hosts shall arm the right! " 



8q 



He spoke of wrongs too long endured, 
Of sacred rights to be secured; 
Then from his patriot tongue of fiame 
The starthng words for Freedom came. 
The stirring sentences he spake 
Compelled the heart to glow or quake, 
And rising on his theme's broad wing. 

And grasping in his nervous hand 

The imaginary battle-brand, 
In face of death he dared to fling 
Defiance to a tyrant king. 

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed. 
In eloquence of attitude, 
Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; 
Then swept his kindling glance of fire 
From startled pew to breathless choir; 
When suddenly his mantle wide 
His hands impatient flung aside, 
And, lo! he met their wondering eyes 
Complete in all a warrior's guise. 

A moment there was awful pause, — 
When Berkley cried, " Cease, traitor! cease! 
God's temple is the house of peace!" 

The other shouted, " Nay, not so. 
When God is with our righteous cause; 
His holiest places then are ours 
Flis temples are our forts and towers 

That frown upon the tvrant foe; 
In this, the dawn of Freedom's dav. 
There is a time to fight and pray! " 

And now before the open door — 
The warrior-priest had ordered so — 



86 



The enlisting" trumpet's sudden roar 
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, 

Its long reverberating blow, 
So loud and clear, it seemed the ear 
Of dusty death must wake and hear. 
And there the startling drum and fife 
Fired the living with fiercer life; 
While overhead, with wild increase. 
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, 

The great bell swung as ne'er before. 
It seemed as it would never cease; 
And every word its ardor flung 
From off its jubilant iron tongue 

Was, "War! War! War!" ^' 

"Who dares?" — this was the patriot's cry, 
As striding from the desk he came, — 
" Come out with me, in Freedom's name, 

For her to live, for her to die? " 

A hundred hands flung up reply. 

A hundred voices answered, " I." 
Read Seventy six — Btyanf. 



THE AMERICAN WAR. 

SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. 
Pttf. 

William Pitt, Earl of Chatham (1708-1778). was born at West- 
minster, of a Cornish family. After a long and distinguished 
career in the House of Commons, he was appointed to the office 
of Privy Seal, and entered the House of Lords as Earl of Chat- 
ham. He was a devoted friend to the American Colonies and 
when the sfruggle for their independence began, although he 
was in failing health, he advocated the redress of their grievances 
with masterly eloquence. To the end of his life he believed 



87 

that reconciliation was possible, and his last public utterance 
was a brilliant speech denouncing the policy which favored the 
recognition of American independence. 

Still one great clime, in full and free defiance, 
Yet rears her crest, unconquered and sublime, 
Above the far Atlantic. — Byron. 

The people whom we at first despised as rebels, 
but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted 
against ns; supplied with every military store, their 
interest consulted and their ambassadors entertained by 
our inveterate enemy! — and ministers do not, and dare 
not, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate 
state of our army abroad is in part known. No man 
more highly esteems and honors the English troops 
than I do; I know their virtues and their valor; I know 
they can achieve anything but impossilMlities; and 
I know that the conquest of English America Is an 
impossihility. 

You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. 
\\'\\2ii is your present situation there? We do not 
know' the ivorst ; but we know that in three campaigns 
we have done nothing, and suffered mtich. You may 
swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and 
extend your traiific to the shambles of every German 
despot: your attempts will be forever vain and impotent 
— doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which 
you rely: for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the 
minds of your adversaries, to overrun them wath the 
mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them 
and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. 
If T were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a 
foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would 
lav down mv arms — never, never, never! 



88 



INDEPENDENCE BELL. 



The old State House Bell bore these words: "Proclaim liberty 
throughout the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof!" The 
little grandson of the bellman awaited the action of Congress, 
to give his grandfather the signal to ring. 

There was tumult in the city, 

In the quaint old Quaker town, 
And the streets were rife with people 

Pacing restless up and down; 
People gathering at corners, 

Where they whispered each to each, 
And the sweat stood on their temples. 

With the earnestness of speech. 

As the bleak Atlantic currents 

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, 
So they beat against the State House, 

So they surged against the door; 
And the mingling of the voices 

INIade a harnlony profound, 
Till the quiet street of chestnuts 

Was all turbulent with sound. 

" Will they do it? " "' Dare they do it? " 

" Who is speaking? " " What's the news? " 
" What of Adams? " " What of Sherman? " 

" O, God grant they won't refuse! " 
" Make some way. there! " " Let me nearer! " 

" I am stifling! " — " Stifle then: 
When a nation's life's at hazard. 

We've no time to think of men! " 



89 



So they beat against the portal — 

Man and woman, maid and child; 
And the July sun in heaven 

On the scene looked down and smiled; 
The same sun that saw the Spartan 

Shed his patriot blood in vain, 
Now beheld the soul of freedom 

All unconquered rise again. 

Aloft in that high steeple 

Sat the bellman, old and gray; 
He was weary of the tyrant 

And his iron-sceptered sway; 
So he sat with one hand ready 

On the clapper of the bell, 
When his eye should catch the signal, 

Very happy news to tell. 

See! see! the dense crowd quivers 

Through all its lengthy line. 
As the boy beside the portal 

Looks forth to give the sign! 
With his small hands upward lifted, 

Breezes dallying with his hair. 
Hark! with deep, clear intonation. 

Breaks his young voice on the air. 

Hushed the people's swelling murmur. 
List the boy's strong joyous cry! 

"Ring!'' he shouts aloud; "Ring! Grandpa! 
Ring! O, Ring for LIBERTY! " 

And straightway, at the signal. 
The old bellman lifts his hand, 



90 



v\ii(l sends the good news, making 
Iron mnsic throno;h the land. 



How they shonted! What rejoicing! 

How the old bell shook the air, 
Till the clang of freedom rnffled 

The calm gliding Delaware! 
How the bonfires and the torches 

Illumed the night's repose, 
And from the flames, like Phoenix, 

Fair liberty arose! 

The old bell now is silent, 

And hushed its iron tongue, 
But the spirit it awakened 

Still lives — forever young. 
And while we greet the sunlight 

On the Fourth of each July, 
We'll ne'er forget the bellman, 

Who, 'twixt the earth and sky, 
Rung out our Independence, 

Which, please God, shall never die! 

Quaker foivn — Philadelphia. 

T/ie Spartan — In the year 480 B. C, three hundred Greeks 
helonging to the state of Sparta, and under the leadership of 
Leonidas, all perished in defending the Pass of Therinop5da3 
against the Persians who came to destroy the liberties of Greece. 

PJnvnix — A fabled bird which, according to the Greeks, rose 
from its own ashes. Hence the reference to the " spirit " in the 
lines, — 

"But the spirit it awakened 
Still lives — forever young." 

Adams and Sherman were members of the Continental 
Congress. 



92 



THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 

Henry T. Randall. 
"Resolved., 

That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free 
and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegi- 
ance to the British Crown, and that all political connections 
between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, 
totally dissolved." 

To the Patriots, the Declaration gave strength and 
courage. It gave them a definite purpose, — and a 
name and object commensurate with the cost. When 
it was formally read by the magistracy from the halls 
of justice and in the public marts, by the of^cers of the 
army at the head of their divisions, by the clergy from 
their pulpits, its grandeur impressed the popular 
imagination. The American people pronounced it a 
fit instrument clothed in fitting words. The public 
enthusiasm btirst forth, sometimes in gay and festive, 
and sometimes in solemn and religious observances — 
as the Cavalier or Puritan taste predominated. 

In the Southern and Middle cities and villages, the 
riotous populace tore down the images of monarchs 
and Colonial governors and dragged them with ropes 
round their necks through the streets — cannon thun- 
dered, bonfires blazed — the opulent feasted, drank 
toasts, and joined in hilariotis celebrations. In New 
England, the grimmer joy manifested itself in prayers 
and sermons, and religious rites. 



93 



NATHAN HALE. 

Francis M. Finch. 
He dares for his country or his friends to die. — Horace. 

After Washington's retreat from Long Island in September, 
1776, he needed information as to the British strength and forti- 
fications Captain Nathan Hale, a tine young American officer 
of twenty-one, volunteered to get the information. While 
inside of the enemy's lines he was taken prisoner, and hanged as 
a spy. His last words were, " I only regret that I have but one 
life to lose for my country." 

To drumbeat and heartbeat, 

A soldier marches by: 
There is color in his cheek, 

There is courage in his eye, — 
Yet to drumbeat and heartbeat 

In a moment he must die. 

By starlight and moonlight. 

He seeks the Briton's camp: 
He hears the rustling flag. 

And the armed sentry's tramp; 
And the starlight and moonlight 

His silent wanderings lamp. 

With slow tread and still tread 

He scans the tented line, 
And he counts the battery guns 

By the gaunt and shadowy pine; 
And his slow tread and still tread 

Gives no warnins: sisrn. 



94 



The dark wave, the pkimed wave, 

It meets his eager glance; 
And it sparkles 'neath the stars 

Like the glimmer of a lance, — 
A dark wave, a plumed wave, 

On an emerald expanse. 

A sharp clang, a steel clang. 

And terror in the sound! 
For the sentry, falcon-eyed, 

In the camp a spy has found: 
With a sharp clang, a steel clang, 

The patriot is bound. 

With calm brow, steady brow, 

He listens to his doom: 
In his look there is no fear, 

Nor a shadow-trace of gloom. 
But with calm brow and steady brow 

He robes him for the tomb. 

In the long night, the still night, 

He kneels upon the sod; 
And the brutal guards withhold 

E'en the solemn Word of God! 
In the long night, the still night. 

He walks where Christ has trod. 

'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, 

He dies upon the tree; 
And he mourns that he can lose 

But one life for liberty: 
And in the blue morn, the sunny morn. 

His spirit-wings are free. 



95 



From the Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, 
From monument and urn, 

The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, 
His tragic fate shall learn; 

And on Fame-leaf and on Angel-leaf 
The name of Hale shall burn. 



THE BATTLE OF TRENTON. 

"Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, 
And we are graced with wreaths of victory." 

On Christmas day in seventy-six 

Our ragged troops, with bayonets fixed, 

For Trenton marched away. 
The Delaware, see! the boats below! 
The light obscured by hail and snow! 

But no signs of dismay. 

Our object was the Hessian band. 
That dared invade fair Freedom's land. 

And quarter in that place. 
Great Washington he led us on. 
Whose streaming flag, in storm or sun. 

Had never known disgrace. 

In silent march we passed the night, 
Each soldier panting for the fight. 

Though quite benumbed with frost. 
Greene on the left at six began. 
The right was led by Sullivan 

Who ne'er a moment lost. 



96 



Their pickets stormed, the alarm was spread, 
That rebels risen from the dead 

Were marching into town. 
Some scampered here, some scampered there. 
And some for action did prepare; 

But soon their arms laid down. 

Twelve hundred servile miscreants. 
With all their colors, guns, and tents, 

Were trophies of the day. 
The frolic o'er, the bright canteen. 
In center, front, and rear was seen- 

Driving fatigue away. 

Now, brothers of the patriot bands, 
Let's sing deliverance from the hands 

Of arbitrary sway. 
And as our life is but a span. 
Let's touch the tankard while we can, 

In memory of that day. 



CARMEN BELLICOSUM. 

A SONG OF WAR. 

Guy H. McMaster. 

In their ragged regimentals 
Stood the old Continentals, 

Yielding not. 
When the grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail fell the plunging 

Cannon shot ; 

When the files 

Of the isles 



97 

From the smoky night encampment bore the banner of 
the rampant 

Unicorn, 
And grummer, grnmmer, grummer rolled the roll of 
the drnmmer, 

Throngh the morn! 

Then with eyes to the front all, 
And with guns horizontal 
Stood our sires; 
And the balls whistled deadly, 
And in streams flashing redly 
Blazed the fires; 
As the roar 
On the shore, 
Swept the strong battle breakers o'er the green sodded 
acres 

Of the plain; 
And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gun- 
powder. 

Cracking amain! 

Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red Saint George's 

Cannoneers ; 
And the " villainous saltpeter " 
Rung a fierce discordant meter 

Round their ears; 

As the swift 

Storm drift, 
With hot, sweeping anger, came the horseguards' 
clangor 

On our flanks. 

PER. OUR COUNTRY- — ^ 



98 

Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned 
fire 

Through the ranks! 

Then the old-fashioned colonel 
Galloped through the white, infernal 

Powder cloud; 
And his broad sword was swinging, 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
J3ullets flew 
And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the 
leaden 

Rifle breath; 
And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six- 
pounder 

Hurling death! 

Sa/nf George — Patron saint of England. 

Uuicorn — The British flag bears the unicorn, and lion, on 
the English coat of arms. 

Read Gertrude of Wyoming — Caiitpbell. 



OCCUPATION OF PHILADELPHIA. 

SEPTEMBER 26, 1 777. 

H. A. Brozun. 

A sense of something dreadful about to happen hangs 
over the town. A third of the houses are shut and 
empty. Shops are unopened, and busy rumor flies 
about the streets. Early in the morning the sidewalks 
are filled with a cjuiet, anxious crowd. The women 



99 

watch behind bowed windows with half cnrioiis, half 
frightened looks. The men, solemn and subdued, 
whisper in groups: " Will they come to-day? Are they 
here already? Will they treat us like a conquered 
people? " 

The morning drags along. By ten o'clock Second 
street, from Callowhill to Chestnut, is filled with old 
men and boys. There is hardly a young man to be 
seen. About eleven is heard the sound of approach- 
ing cavalry, and a scjuadron of dragoons comes gallop- 
ing down the street, scattering the boys right and left. 

In a few minutes, far up the street, there is the faint 
sound of martial music and something moving that 
glitters in the sunlight. 

The crowd thickens, and is full of hushed expecta- 
tion. Presently one can see a red mass swaying to and 
fro. It becomes more and more distinct. Louder 
grows the music and the tramp of marching men, as 
waves of scarlet, tipped with steel, come moving down 
the street. They are now but a scjuare off, their bayo- 
nets glancing in perfect line, and steadily advancing to 
the music of " God Save the King." 

These are the famous grenadiers. They are per- 
fectly ecjuipped, and look well fed and hearty. Behind 
them are more cavalry. No, these must be officers. 
The first one is splendidly mounted, and wears the uni- 
form of a general. A whisper goes through the 
bystanders, " It is Lord Cornwallis himself." 

But who are these in dark blue, that come behind the 
grenadiers? Breeches of yellow leather, leggins of 
black, and tall pointed hats of brass, complete their uni- 
form. They wear moustaches, and have a fierce foreign 
look; and their unfamiliar music seems to a child in that 



lOO 



crowd to cry, " Plunder! plunder! plunder! " as it times 
their rapid march. These are the Hessian mercenaries 
whom Washington surprised and thrashed so well at 
Christmas in '76. 

And now all have passed by. The time for the even- 
ing parade comes, and the well-equipped regiments are 
drawn up in line, while the sun slowly sinks in autumnal 
splendor in the west. The streets are soon in shadow, 
but still noisy with the tramping of soldiers and the 
clatter of arms. 

In High street, and on the commons, fires are lit for 
the troops to do their cooking, and the noises of the 
camp mingle with the city's hum. Most of the houses 
are shut, but here and there one stands wide open, while 
brilliantly dressed officers lounge at the windows, or 
pass and repass in the doorways. And thus night falls 
upon the Quaker City. 

In spite of Trenton and Princeton, and Brandywine, 
in spite of the wasdom of Congress and the courage and 
skill of the commander in chief, in spite of the bravery 
and fortitude of the Continental army, the forces of the 
king are in the rebel capital, and the " All's well " of 
hostile sentinels keeping guard by her northern border 
passes unchallenged from the Schuylkill to the Dela- 
ware. 



THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE. 

OCTOBER 17. 1777. 

When Jack, the king's commander, 

Was going to his duty. 
Through all the crowd he smiled and bowed 

To every blooming beauty. 



lOI 



The city rung" with feats he'd done 

In Portugal and Flanders, 
And all the town thought he'd be crowned 

The first of Alexanders. 

To Hampton Court he first repairs 
To kiss great George's hand, sirs; 

Then to harangue on state affairs 
Before he left the land, sirs. 

The " Lower House " sat mute as mouse 

To hear his grand oration; 
And " all the peers " with loudest cheers, 

Proclaimed him to the nation. 

Then off he went to Canada, 

Next to Ticonderoga, 
And quitting those away he goes 

Straightway to Saratoga. 

With grand parade his march he made 
To gain his wished-for station. 

While far and wide his minions hied 
To spread his " Proclamation." 

To such as stayed he offers made 

Of " pardon on submission. 
But savage bands should waste the lands 

Of all in opposition." 

But ah, the cruel fates of war! 

This boasted son of Britain, 
When mounting his triinnphal car, 

With sudden fear was smitten. 



I02 



The sons of Freedom gathered round, 

His hostile 1)ands confounded, 
And when they'd fain have turned their back 

They found themselves surrounded! 

In vain they fought, in vain they fled; 

Their chief, humane and tender. 
To save the rest soon thought it l)est 

His forces to surrender. . 

Brave Saint Clair, when he first retired, 
Knew what the fates portended; 

And Arnold and heroic Gates 
His conduct have defended. 



THE SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE. 

OCTOBER 17, 1777. 

Gen. John Waits De Pcyster. 

Brothers, this spot is holy! Look around! 

Before us flows our memory's sacred river, 
Whose banks are Freedom's shrines. This grassy 
mound, 

The altar, on whose height the Mighty Giver 
Gave Independence to our country; when, 
Thanks to its brave, enduring, patient men, 
The invading host was brought to bay and laid 
Beneath " Old Glory's " new-born folds, the blade 
The brazen thunder-throats, the pomp of war. 
And England's yoke, broken for evermore. 

Yes, on this spot, — thanks to our gracious God, — 
Where last in conscious arrogance it trod, 



lO' 



Defiled, as captives, Burgoyne's conquered horde; 
Below, their general yielded up his sword; 
There, to our flag bowed England's battle-torn; 
Where now we stand, the United States was born. 



AT VALLEY FORGE. 

H. A. Brown. 

The wind is cold and piercing on the old Gulf Road, 
and the snowflakes have begun to fall. Who is this 
that toils up yonder hill, his footsteps stained with 
blood? His bare feet peep through his worn-out shoes, 
his legs nearly naked, his shirt hanging in strings, his 
hair dishevelled, his face wan and thin, his look hungry. 
On his shoulder he carries a rusty gun, and the hand 
that grasps the stock is blue with cold. His comrade 
is no better off, nor he who follows. 

A fourth comes into view, and still another. A dozen 
are in sight. Twenty have reached the ridge, and there 
are more to come. See them as they mount the hill 
that slopes eastward into the Great Valley. A thou- 
sand are in sight, but they are but the vanguard of the 
motley company that winds down the road until it is 
lo^t in the cloud of snowflakes that have hidden the 
Gulf hills. Yonder are horsemen in tattered uniforms, 
and behind them cannon lumbering slowing over the 
frozen road, half dragged, half pushed by men. 

Are these soldiers that huddle together and bow their 
heads as they face the biting wind? Is this an army 
that comes straggling through the valley in the blind- 
ing snow? No martial music leads them in triumph 
into a captured capital. No city full of good cheer and 



I04 

warm and comfortable homes awaits their coming. No 
sound keeps time to their steps save the icy wind rattHng 
the leafless branches, and the dull tread of their weary 
feet on the frozen ground. In yonder forest must they 
find their shelter, and on the northern slope of these 
inhospitable hills their place of refuge. 

Trials that rarely have failed to break the fortitude of 
men await them here. The Congress whom they serve 
shall prove helpless to protect them, and their country 
herself seem unmindful of their sufferings. Disease 
shall infest their huts by day, and Famine stand guard 
with them through the night. Frost shall lock their 
camp with icy fetters, and the snows cover it as with a 
garment; the storms of winter shall be pitiless, — but 
all in vain. Danger shall not frighten nor temptation 
have power to seduce them. Doubt shall not shake 
their love of country, nor suffering overcome their forti- 
tude. The powers of evil shall not prevail against 
them; for they are the Continental Army, and these are 
the hills of Valley Forge! 



THE STORMING OF STONY POINT. 

JULY 15, 1779. 

Mrs. Fannie E. Greenleaf. 

"And Freedom's summons-shout shall burst, 
Rare music! on the brain." 

The country was in danger, the British were elate 
With cruel joy and triumph o'er the rebels' coming fate. 
For the British held the Hudson, Stony Point was in 

their power. 
And the shadows o'er the country loomed more darkly 

hour by hour. 



105 

The nation's chief with frowning brow sat lost in anx- 
ious thought; 
He had " dipped into the Future " with pain and 

anguish fraught. 
Then starting from his seat he cries, " Send General 

Wayne to me; 
He's the man can do it, if such a man there be! " 

The soldier stood before him, erect and firm of mien, 
Eager to learn his chief's commands, with fiery eyes 

and keen, 
" That fort! it must be ours! Can you take it, Anthony 

Wayne? " 
" I'll storm it, sire," was the response, " if you'll plan 

the campaign." 

Forth came he from the presence, alert with joy and 

pride, 
The hope of triumph on his brow; and gazing far and 

wide, 
" ' That fort! it must be ours! ' ay, and this very night. 
Ere another morning breaking floods all the world with 

light, 
T and my bravest soldiers will mount that steep old crag, 
Tear down those hated colors, and plant the nation's 

flag." 

'Twas midnight, and the shining stars with mild and 

tender glow. 
With eyes of pitying love looked on this jarring world 

below. 
W^ith eyes of love on high and low, alike on friend and 

foe, 



io6 



On happy scenes of peace and joy, alas! on tears and 

woe. 
But the sweet silence of the night was broken by the 

tread 
Of soldiers marching swiftly, brave Anthony at the 

head; 

Along the road and causeway, led by a friendly hand, 

Softly with rapid feet they sped, till on the hill they 
stand. 

The sentinel hears the countersign, but ere the foe he 
spies. 

The soldiers throw him to the ground, and gag him as 
he lies. 

Inspired by their brave leader, they onward rush until 

They're half way up the slope, they've nearly climbed 
the hill ; 

Then from the battlements o'erhead a murderous fire 
bursts out. 

The cannon l^alls plough through their ranks, near put- 
ting them to rout. 

Then shouts mad Anthony. " On boys! for by the 

eternal powers. 
That fort, it must be ours! do you hear? it must be ours! 
On to your shoulders, comrades, I'm wounded, but I'll 

he 
Within the walls of that grim fort, one moment ere I 

die!" 
Through fire and smoke, through shot and shell, like 

maddened fiends they fought; 
And with their bayonets alone the deadly work was 

wrought. 



I07 

Mounting the walls with h-antic zeal the foe they over- 
power, 

Trampling the dying and the dead in that terrific hour. 

" The fort is ours! " shouts Anthony, " We've scaled 
this steep old crag! 

Down with those hated colors! up with the nation's 
flag! " 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 

Bryant. 

General Francis Marion (born in South Carolina in 1722) won 
great fame in the war for Independence. With a small force of 
irregular or par*^,isan troops he greatly harassed the British in 
South Carolina. He had his camp in a swampy and wooded 
island, and from there he would secretly sally forth and strike 
swift and telling blows at the enemy. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold: 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress tree: 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near! 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear: 



TO<S 

When waking to tlieir tents on fire. 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face ns 

Are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host l)ehind, 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From dangers and from toil: 
We talk the battle over,, 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout. 

As if a hunt were up, 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads, 
The glitter of their rilles. 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain; 
'Tis life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British Camp — 

A moment — and away 
Back to the pathless forest. 

Before the peep of day. 



I09 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, , 

And tears like those of spring. . 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

Forever, from our shore. 



KING'S MOUNTAIN. 

IV. G. Sz>nfns. 

" Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 
By fame been raised." 

Col. Ferguson and his forces of British and Tories were 
defeated by the patriots at King's Mountain, S. C, Oct. 7, 1780. 
The Tory leaders were hanged immediately after the battle. 

Hark! through the gorge of the valley, 

'Tis the bugle that tells of the foe; 
Our own quickly sounds for the rally, 

And we snatch down the rifle, and go. 
Down the lone heights now wind they together. 

As the mountain brooks flow to the vale. 
And now, as they group on the heather, 

The keen scout delivers his tale: — 

" The British — the Tories are on us; 
And now is the moment to prove. 



no 



To the women whose virtues liave w^on us, 
That our virtues are worthy their love! 

They have swept the vast valleys below us, 
With fire, to the hills from the sea; 

And here would they seek to o'erthrow us, 
In a realm which our eagle makes h-ee! " 

Grim dashed they away as they bounded, — 

The hunters to hem in the prey, — 
And with Deckard's long rifles surrounded. 

Then the British rose fast to the fray; 
And never, with arms of more vigor, 

Did their bayonets press through the strife, 
Where, with every swift pull of the trigger, 

The sharpshooters dashed out a life! 

'Twas the meeting of eagles and lions, 

'Twas the rushing of tempests and waves, 
Insolent triumph 'gainst patriot defiance. 

Born freemen 'gainst sycophant slaves: 
Scotch Ferguson sounding his whistle. 

As from danger to danger he flies. 
Feels the moral that lies in Scotch thistle. 

With its " touch me who dare! " and he dies. 

An hour, and the battle is over; 

The eagles are rending the prey; 
The serpents seek flight into cover, 

But the terror still stands in the way: 
More dreadful the doom that on treason 

Avenges the wrongs of the state; 
And the oak tree for manv a season 

Bears its fruit for the vultures of Fate. 



Ill 

PULASKI'S BANNER. 

Longfellow. 

Count Casimir Pulaski, a famous Polish officer, fought in 
behalf of the United States, 1777-^779, and was mortally 
wounded in the assault on Savannah Oct. 9, 1779. His crimson 
silk banner was given to him by the Moravian nuns of Bethle- 
hem, Penn. 

When the dying flame of day 

Through the chancel shot its ray, 

Far the glimmering tapers shed 

Faint light on the cowled head; 

And the censer burning swung, 

Where, before the altar, hung. 

The crimson banner, that with prayer 

Had been consecrated there. 

And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, 

Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. 

"Take thy banner! May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave; 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the sabbath of our vale, 
When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills, 
When the spear in conflict shakes. 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

"Take thy banner! and, beneath 
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath. 
Guard it. till our homes are free! 
Guard it! God will prosper thee! 



112 

In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power,, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand wiU shield thee then. 

' Take thy banner! But when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight, 
If the vanquished warrior bow, , 
Spare him! By our holy vow. 
By our prayers and many tears, 
By the mercy that endears, 
Spare him! he our love hath shared! 
Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared! 

" Take thy banner! and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier. 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 

The warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud! 



THE DANCE. 



Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all, — 
By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall ! 

— John Dickinson. 

Cornwallis led a country dance. 

The like was never seen, sir. 
Much retrograde and much advance, 

And all with General Greene, sir. 



113 

They rambled up and rambled down, 
Joined hands, then off they run, sir. 

Our General Greene to Charlestown, 
The earl to Wilmington, sir. 

Greene in the South then danced a set, 

And got a mighty name, sir, 
Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette, 

But suffered in his fame, sir. 

Then down he figured to the shore. 

Most like a lordly dancer, 
And on his courtly honor swore 

He would no more advance, sir. 

Now housed in York, he challenged all, 

At minuet or allemande. 
And lessons for a courtly ball 

His guards by day and night connedc 

This challenge known, full soon there came, 

A set who had the bon ton, 
De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame 

Fut brillaiit pour itii long temps. 

And Washington, Columbia's son, 
Whom easy nature taught, sir. 

That grace which can't by pains be won, 
Or Plutus's gold be bought, sir. 

Now hand in hand they circle round 

Tin's ever-dancing peer, sir; 
Their gentle movements soon confound 

The earl as they draw near, sir. 

PER. OUR COUNTRY — 8 



114 

His music soon forgets to play — 
His feet can move no more, sir, 

And all his bands now curse the day 
They jigged to our shore, sir. 

Now Tories all, what can ye say? 

Come — is not this a griper, 
That while your hopes are danced away, 

'Tis you must pay the piper? 

Note. — Fnt hrillant pour tin long temps — Was glorious for a 
lone: time. 



TALLEYRAND AND ARNOLD. 

" Oh ! that a soldier so glorious, ever victorious in fight, 
Passed from a daylight of honor into the terrible night; 
Fell as the mighty archangel, ere the earth glowed in peace, 

fell. 
Fell from the patriot's heaven down to the loyalist's hell." 

There was a day when Talleyrand arrived in Havre, 
direct from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the 
French Revolution. Pursued by the bloodhounds of 
the Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of 
property and power, Talleyrand secured a passage to 
America in a ship about to sail. He was a beggar, and 
a wanderer to a strange land, to earn his daily bread by 
daily labor. 

" Is there an American staying at your house? " he 
asked the landlord of the hotel. " I am bound across 
the water, and would like a letter to a person of influ- 
ence in the New World." 

The landlord hesitated a moment, then replied — 
" There is a gentleman up stairs, either from America 
or Britain, but whether an American or an Englishman, 
I cannot tell." 



115 

He pointed the way, and Talleyrand — who, in 
his life, was Bishop, Prince, and Prime Minister — 
ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant, he stood 
before the stranger's door, knocked, and entered. 

In the farther corner of the dimly lighted room sat 
a man of some fifty years, his arms folded and his head 
bowed on his breast. From a window directly oppo- 
site, a flood of light poured over his forehead. His 
eyes looked from beneath the downcast brows and gazed 
on Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and searching 
expression. His face was striking in outline, the mouth 
and chin indicative of an iron will. His form, vigor- 
ous even with the snows of fifty winters, was clad hi a 
dark, but rich and distinguished, costume. 

Talleyrand advanced, stated that he was a. fugitive, 
and under the impression that the gentleman before 
him was an American, he solicited his kind offices. He 
poured forth his history in elocj^uent French and broken 
English. 

" I am a wanderer — an exile. I am forced to f\y 
to the New World, without a friend or home. You are 
an American! Give me, then, I beseech you, a letter 
of yours, so that I may be able to earn my bread. I am 
willing to toil in any manner — the scenes of Paris have 
seized me with such horror, that a life of labor would 
be a paradise to a career of luxury in France. You 
will give me a letter to one of your friends? A gentle- 
man like you has doubtless many friends." 

The strange gentleman arose. With a look that 
Talleyrand never forgot he retreated towards the door 
of the next chamber. He spoke as he stepped back- 
ward - — his voice was full of meaning. 

" I am the only man born in the New World who can 



ii6 



raise his hand to God and say, I have not a friend — not 
one, in all America! " Talleyrand never forgot the 
overwhelming sadness of the look which accompanied 
these words. 

" Who are you? " he cried, as the strange man 
retreated to the next room; " your name? " 

'' My name," he replied, with a smile that had more 
mockery than joy in its convulsive expression — " my 
name is Benedict Arnold! " He was gone. Talley- 
rand sank into a chair, gasping the words — ''Arnold 
the Traitor! " 

Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth, another 
Cain, with the wanderer's mark upon his brow. Even 
in that secluded room at that inn in Havre his crime 
found him out, and forced him to tell his name — that 
name the synonym of infamy. 

The last twenty years of his life were covered with 
a cloud, from the darkness of which but a few gleams 
of light flashed out upon the page of history. 

The manner of his death is not exactly known. But 
we cannot doubt that he died utterly friendless — that 
remorse pursued him to the grave, whispering the name 
of Andre in his ear, and that the memory of his course 
of glory gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring 
forever — " True to your country, faithful to your 
duties as an American soldier and general, what might 
you have been, Arnold tJic Traitor!" 

Talleyrand (1854-1838), a French statesman fled to the U. S. 
when Louis XVI fell. He afterward returned and held several 
hig^h offices under Napoleon. Louis XVIII and Louis Phillipe. 

From the execution of Louis XVI, June 2, 1793, tojuly 27, 
1794, Robespierre had control of the government of France. 
On account of the many trials and butcheries during this period, 
it is called the Reign of Terror. 



117 

ANDRE TO WASHINGTON. 

Wi'llis. 

Nathaniel Parker Willis (1806-1867) was born at Portland, Me. 
One of his best poems is "Absalom." 

" Though those that are betrayed do feel the treason deeply, 
Yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe." 

It is not the fear of death 

That damps my brow; 
It is not for another breath 

I ask thee now; 
I can die with a Hp unstirred, 

And a quiet heart — 
Let but this prayer be heard 

Ere I depart. 

I can give up my mother's look — 

My sister's kiss; 
I can think of love — yet brook 

A death like this! 
I can give up the young fame 

I bin-ned to win; 
All — but the spotless name 

I glory in. 

Thine is the power to give, 

Thine to deny. 
Joy for the hour I live, 

Calmness to die 
By all the brave should cherish 

By my dying breath. 
I ask that I may perish 

By a soldier's death. 



ii8 



WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF. 

Adams. 

John Quincy Adams (1767-1848), sixth president of the United 
States, was born at Braintree, Mass. 

'J'hc sword of Washington! The staff of FrankHn! 
Oh, sir, what associations are Hnked in adamant with 
these names! Wasliins^ton, whose sword was never 
(h'awn but in the cause of his country, and never 
sheathed when wielded in his country's cause! Frank- 
hn, the ])hilosopher of the thun(lerl)oh, the printing 
press, and the plowshare! What names are these in 
the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind! 
Washington and Franklin! What other two men 
whose lives belong to the eighteentli century of Christ- 
endom, have left a deeper impression of themselves 
upon the age in which they lived, and upon all after 
time? 

Washingtf)!!, the warrior and the legislator! In 
war, contending by the wager of battle for the inde- 
pendence of his country and for the freedom of the 
human race, ever manifesting amid its horrors, l)y pre- 
cept and by exam])le, his reverence for the laws of peace, 
and for the tenderest sym])athies of humanity; in peace, 
soothing the ferocious spirit of discord among his own 
countrymen into harmony and union, and giving to that 
very sword, now presented to his country, a charm 
more potent tlian that attributed in ancient times to the 
lyre of Orpheus. 

Franklin, the mechrmic of liis own fortune; teach- 
ing in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the 
way to wealth; and, in the shade of obscurity, the path 



119 

to i;rcatiicss; in llic iiialuril)' of luaiiliood, (lisarniiiii^ 
the tluiiulcr of its terrors, the hghtiiiiiL; of its fatal hlast; 
and wreslint;' from the tyrant's hand the still more 
afllictive seepter of o|)|)ression; while descending into 
the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic ocean, braving 
in the dead of winter the haltle and the breeze, bearing 
in his hand the charier of in(lci)endence which he had 
contribnted to form; and tendering, from the self- 
created nation to the mightiest monarchs of Enroj)c, 
the oHve branch of ])eace, the nicrcnrial wand of com- 
merce, and the anuilet of protection and safety to the 
man of peace on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable 
cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. 

yXnd, linally, in the last stage of life, with four score 
winters upon his head, under the torture of an incurable 
disease, returning to his native land, closing his days as 
the chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after 
contributing by his counsels, under the presidency of 
Washington, and recording his name, under the sanc- 
tion of devout pra\cr in\'oked by him to ( iod, to that 
constitution under authority of which we are here 
assembled as the representatives of the North American 
peo])le, to receive in their name and for them, these 
venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good 
founders of (nu' great confederated republic, these 
sacred symbols of our golden age. 

May they be de])osited among the archives of our 
government! And may every American who shall 
hereafter behold them, ejactdate a mingled olTering of 
l^raise to that Supreme Ruler of the universe, by whose 
tender mercies our Union has been hitherto jircserved 
through all the \icissilndes and revoliUions of this tur- 
bulent world, and of pra\er for the continuance of these 



I20 



blcssiiijj^s by the <li.s])cnsali()n f)f I^T)vi(lencc to our 
beloved country from age to age, till time shall be no 
more! 

According to the Greek legend Orpheus had the power of 
charming all animals and inanimate objects with the music of 
his lyre. 



YORKTOWN. 

Whitlicr. 



" Bright is the wreath of our fame, 
Glory awaits us for aye." 

In September, 1781, Washington appeared before Yorktown, 
held by the British army under Lord Cornwallis. With the 
French and American forces Washington began a regular siege, 
which lasted for three weeks, when the British commander sur- 
rendered his army of over seven thousand men. Count Rocham- 
beau (ro-shom-bo) was in command of the French allies at the 
siege. 

From ^'orkt(nvn^s ruins, ranked and still. 
Two lines stretch far o'er vale and hill: 
Who curbs his steed at head of one? 
Hark! the low murmur: Washington! 
Who bends his keen, ai:)|)roving glance 
Wlierc down the gorgeous line of France 
Shine knightly star and ])lume of snow? 
Thou too art victor, Kochambcau! 

The earth which bears this calm array 
Shook with the war-charge yesterday; 
1 Mowed deej) with hurrying hoof and wheel, 
Shot down and blade(l thick with steel; 
October's clear and noonday sun 
Paled in the breath-smoke of the gun; 



121 



And down night's doii1)lc l)lackness fell, 
Like a dropped star, the l)lazing- shell. 

Now all is hushed: the gleaming lines 
Stand moveless as the neighboring pines; 
While through them, sullen, grim, and slow, 
The conquered hosts of England go: 
O'Hara's brow belies his dress, 
Gay Tarleton's troop rides bannerless; 
Shout from the fired and wasted homes, 
Thy scourge, Virginia, captive comes! 

Nor thou alone: with one glad voice 
Let all thy sister States rejoice; 
Let Freedom, in whatever clime 
She waits with sleepless eye her time. 
Shouting from cave and mountain wood 
Make glad her desert solitude. 
While they who hunt her, quail with fear; 
The New World's chain lies broken here! 



HOROLOGE OF LIBERTY. 

God grants liberty only to those who love it and are always 
ready to guard and defend it. — Webster. 

"The world heard: the battle of Lexington — one; 
the Declaration of Independence — two; the surrender 
of Burgoyne — three; the siege of Yorktown — foin-; 
the treaty of Paris — five; the inauguration of Wash- 
ington — six; and then it was the sunrise of a new day. 
of which we have seen yet only the glorious forenoon." 



122 



LAFAYETTE. 

Charles Sprague. 

The moment I heard of America, I loved her. The moment I 
knew she was fighting for freedom, I burnt with a desire of 
bleeding for her, and the moment I shall be able to serve her at 
any time, or in any part of the world, will be the happiest one 

of my life. — Lafayette. 

Others have Hvecl in the love of their own people; 
l)ut who, like this man, has drank his sweetest cup of 
welcome with another? Matchless chief! of glory's 
immortal tablets there is one for him, for him alone! 
Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlast- 
ing flame of Liberty shall guard it, that the generations 
of men may repeat the name recorded there, the beloved 
name of Lafayette. 



MY FIRST STEAMBOAT. 

Robert Fit I ton. 

When I was building my first steamboat, the pro- 
ject was viewed by the public at New York either with 
indiff'erence or contempt, as a visionary scheme. My 
friends indeed were civil, btit they were shy. They 
listened with patience to iny explanations, but with a 
settled cast of incredulity on their countenances. I felt 
the full force of the lamentation of the poet — 

" Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land? 
All shun, none aid you, and few understand." 

As T had occasion to pass daily to and from the 
building-yard while my boat was in progress, I often 



123 

loitered, unknown, near the idle groups of strangers 
gathering in little circles, and heard various inquiries as 
to the object of this new vehicle. The language was 
uniformly that of scorn, sneer, or ridicule. The loud 
laugh rose at my expense; the dry jest, the wise calcula- 
tions of losses and expenditure; the dull but endless 
repetition of " the Fulton folly! " Never did a single 
encouraging remark, a bright hope, or a warm wish 
cross my path. 

z\t length the day arrived when the experiment 
was to be made. To me it was a most trying and inter- 
esting occasion. 1 wanted my friends to go on board 
and witness the first successful trip. Many of them did 
me the favor to attend, as a matter of personal respect; 
but it was manifest they did it with reluctance, fearing 
to be partakers of my mortification and not of my 
triumph. 

I was well aware that, in my case, there were many 
reasons to doubt of my own success. The machinery 
was new and ill-made; many parts of it were constructed 
by mechanics unaccjuainted with such work; and unex- 
pected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to 
present themselves from other causes. 

The moment arrived in which the word was to be 
given for the vessel to move. My friends were in 
groups on the deck. There was anxiety mixed with 
fear among them. They were silent, sad, and weary. 
T read in their looks nothing but disaster, and almost 
repented of my efiforts. The signal was given, and the 
boat moved on a short distance, and then stopped and 
became immovable. 

To the silence of the preceding moment now suc- 
ceeded murmurs of discontent and agitation, and 



124 

whispers and shrugs. 1 could hear distinctly repeated, 
" I told you so — it is a foolish scheme. I wish we 
were well out of it." I elevated myself on a platform, 
and addressed the assembly. I stated that I knew not 
what was the matter; but if they would be quiet and 
indulge me for half an hour, I would either go on or 
abandon the voyage for that time. 

This short respite was conceded without objection. 
I went below and examined the machinery, and dis- 
covered that the cause was a slight malformation of a 
part of the work. In a short period it was obviated; 
the boat was put again in motion; she continued to 
move on. All were still incredulous; none seemed 
willing to trust the evidence of their own senses. 

We left the fair city of New York; we passed 
through the romantic and ever-varying scenery of the 
Highlands; we descried the clustering houses of Albany; 
we reached its shores; yet even then imagination super- 
seded the force of fact. It was doulited if it could be 
done again, or if, in any case, it could be made of any 
great value. 



A PLEASANT REMARK FROM FRANKLIN. 

(at the close of the. federal convention.) 

Fiske. 

John Fiske (1842- ), philosopher and historian, was born 
in Hartford, Conn. 

All private virtue is the public fund ; 

As that abounds the state decays or thrives ; 

Each should contribute to the general stock. 

And who lends most is most his country's friend. 

— /("fi^'so/i's Braganza. 



^25 

Thus after four months of anxious toil, through the 
whole of a scorching Philadelphia summer, after earn- 
est but sometimes bitter discussion, in which, more than 
once, the meeting had seemed on the point of breaking 
up, a colossal work had at last been accomplished, the 
results of which were most powerfully to affect thf 
whole future career of the human race so long as i: 
shall dwell upon the earth. In spite of the high- 
wrought intensity of feeling which had been now and 
then displayed, grave decorum had ruled the proceed- 
ings; and now, though few were really satisfied, the 
approach to unanimity was remarkable. 

When all was over, it is said that many of the mem- 
bers seemed awestruck. Washington sat with head 
bowed in solemn meditation. The scene was ended by 
a characteristic bit of homely pleasantry from Franklin. 
Thirty-three years ago, in the days of George II., 
before the first mutterings of the Revolution had been 
heard, and when the French dominion in America was 
still untouched, before the banishment of the Acadians 
or the rout of Braddock, while Washington was still 
surveying lands in the wilderness; while Madison was 
playing in the nursery, and Hamilton was not yet born, 
Franklin had endeavored to bring together the thirteen 
colonies in a federal union. Of the famous Albany 
plan of 1754, the first complete outline of a federal con- 
stitution for America that was ever made, he was the 
principal, if not the sole author. When he signed the 
Declaration of Independence in this very room, his 
years had rounded the full period of three score and ten. 
Eleven years more had passed, and he had been spared 
to see the noble aim of his life accomplished. There 



126 



was still, no doubt, a chance of failure, but hope now 
reigned in the old man's breast. 

On the back of the President's quaint black armchair 
there was emblazoned a half-sun, brilliant with its gilded 
rays. As the meeting was breaking up and Washington 
arose, Franklin pointed to the chair and made it the text 
for prophecy. 

" As I have been sitting here all these weeks," said 
he, '' I have often wondered whether yonder sun is ris- 
ing or setting. But now I know it is a rising sun." 



PATRIOTISM. 

Sz'r Walter Scott. 



Breathes there a man with soul so dead. 
Who never to himself hath said. 
This is my own, my native land ' ' ? 



PREAMBLE TO THE CONSTITUTION. 

Great were the hearts and strong the minds 
Of those who framed in high debate, 

The immortal league of love that binds 

Our fair broad Empire, State with State. — Bryant. 

We, the People of the United States, in order to form 
a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic 
tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote 
the general welfare, and seciu'e the blessings of liberty 
to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish 
this Constitution for the United States of America. 



127 

GENERAL JACKSON AT NEW ORLEANS. 

Charles Gayat-re'. 

" Proud was his tone, but calm; his eye 
Had that compelling dignity, 
His mien that bearing haught and high 
Which common spirits fear." 

The Union, — it must and shall be preserved. 

— Aiidrt'iv Jackson. 

His very physiognomy prognosticated what sotil was 
encased within the spare but well-ribbed form, which had 
that " lean and hungry look " described l^y England's 
greatest bard as bespeaking little sleep of nights, but 
much of ambition, self-reliance, and impatience of con- 
trol. His lip and eye denoted the man of unyielding- 
temper, and his very hair, slightly silvered, stood erect 
like quills round his wrinkled brow, as if they scorned 
to bend. 

Such was the man who, with a handful of raw militia, 
was to stand in the way of the veteran troops of Eng- 
land, whose boast it was to have triumphed over one of 
the greatest captains of known history. 

This man, when he took the command at New 
Orleans, had made up his mind to beat the English: 
and, as that mind was so constituted that it was not 
susceptible of entertaining much doubt as to the results 
of any of its resolves, he went to work with an innate 
confidence which transfused itself into the population he 
had been sent to protect. 

The battle of New Orleans was fought Januar\' 8, 1815, two 
weeks after the treaty of peace had been signed at Ghent. 



12S 

THE BATTLE OF LAKE ERIE. 

Hildrcih. 

Richard Hildreth (1807-1865), an eminent historian, was born 
at Deerfield, Mass. 

MilHons for defense, but not one cent for tribute. — Pickney. 

The battle of Lake Erie was fought September 10, 1813. The 
whole British fleet was surrendered. 

Covered by a regiment of Pennsylvania militia 
ordered out for that purpose, and having overcome, by 
energy and indefatigable perseverance a thousand 
obstacles incident to naval equipment on that, as it then 
was, remote and thinly-settled frontier, Perry had at 
length completed at Erie two war brigs, the Lawrence 
and the Niagara, each armed with eighteen thirty-two 
pound carronades and two long twelves. The bar, a 
protection to the ships while btiilding, was now a serious 
obstacle to their getting out; but, during a temporary 
absence of the British sqtiadron, whose chief employ- 
ment it had been for some time past to watch the harbor, 
advantage was taken to lighten them over. 

Having received the reenforcement of sailors sent 
by Chatmcey, and taken on board, to complete his 
equipment, one hundred and fifty men from Harrison's 
army, Perry sailed for Maiden, to offer battle to the 
enemy. His squadron consisted of the two new brigs, 
the captured Caledonia with three heavy guns, the Ariel 
with fotir long twelves, the Scorpion and Somers, each 
of two guns, and three other small lake vessels of one 
gun each; a total of fifty-five guns and nine vessels. 

The enemy's squadron, commanded by Captain 



129 

Barclay, an experienced seaman, consisted of the 
Detroit, a new ship just finished, of nineteen long guns, 
the ship Queen Charlotte, of seventeen, the schooner 
Lady Prevost, of thirteen, and the brig Hunter, of ten 
guns, besides two smaller vessels. Their whole number 
of guns was sixty-three, inferior in weight of metal to 
those of the American squadron, though better suited 
to an action at long shot. Perry had also some advan- 
tage in able seamen, Barclay's vessels being chiefly 
manned by Canadian watermen and soldiers. The 
entire crew on either side amounted to about five hun- 
dred men. 

In hopes of additional sailors, Barclay for some 
time avoided an action; but, disappointed in this, and 
getting short of provisions, he presently left Maiden to 
seek an engagement. Perry lay at Put-in-Bay, among 
the group of islands ofi^ Sandusky, a favorable station 
for intercepting the British fleet. 

Early in the morning the squadrons approached 
each other in order of battle ; but the wind was so light 
that it was noon before they came within reach. Bar- 
clay thus had the advantage of commencing the action 
at long shot, and also that of concentrating almost all 
his whole fire upon the Lawrence, Perry's flagship, 
which led the American line, supported by the Ariel and 
Scorpion, and presently by the Caledonia. 

This fire, kept up for two hours and a half, occa- 
sioned a great slaughter, dismounted the guns of the 
Lawrence, disabled her sails, and made her almost a 
complete wreck. As the wind freshened, the other 
vessels passed her, and Perry, entering his l:)oat, went 
on board the Niagara. Lieutenant Elliot, which had 
hitherto taken little part in the action, but now became 

PER. OUR COUNTRY — 9 



I30 

the leading ship. Elhot assumed the command of the 
Somers, and exerted himself to bring up the smaller 
vessels. 

The British, in attempting to wear so as to 
encounter this fresh enemy with fresh broadsides, dis- 
ordered their line, through which the Niagara passed 
firing both broadsides at once, followed and sup- 
ported by the smaller vessels; and such was the effect of 
her heavy carronades that the British ships all soon 
struck. The combat had lasted about three hours, with 
a loss on either side of one hundred and fifty in killed 
and wounded, Barclay himself among the latter. 



PERRY'S VICTORY. 

We have met the enemy and they are ours. — Perry. 

"Take heed 
How you awake our sleeping sword of war; 
We charge you in the name of God take heed.' 

We sailed to and fro in Erie's broad lake, , 
To find British bullies or get into their wake, 
When we hoisted our canvas with true Yankee speed, 
And the brave Captain Perry our squadron did lead. 

We sailed thro' the lake, boys, in search of the foe, 

In the cause of Columbia our brav'ry to show, 

To be equal in combat was all our delight. 

As we wished the proud Britons to know we could fight. 

At length to our liking six sails hove in view, 
Huzzah! says brave Perry, huzzah! says his crew, 
And then for the chase, boys, with our brave little crew, 
We fell in with the l)ullies antl gave them " burgoo." 



131 

Though the force was unequal, determined to fight, 
We brought them to action before it was night: 
We let loose our thunder, our bullets did fly, 
" Now give them your shot, boys," our commander did 
cry. 

We gave them a broadside, our cannon to try, 
" Well done," says brave Perry, " for quarter they'h cry, 
Shot well home, my brave boys, they shortly shall see, 
That quite brave as they are, still braver are we." 

Then we drew up our squadron, each man full of fight. 
And put the proud Britons in a terrible plight. 
The brave Perry's movements will prove fully as bold. 
As the famed Admiral Nelson's prowess of old. 

The conflict was sharp, boys, each man to his gun, 
For our country, her glory, the victr'y was won, 
So six sail (the whole fleet) was our fortune to take, 
Here's a health to brave Perry who governs the Lake. 



BUENA VISTA. 

General Pike. 



"A song for our banner? The watchword recall 

Which gave the Republic her station; 
' United we stand, divided we fall ! ' 

It made and preserved us a nation ! " 

From the Rio Grande's waters to the icy lakes of Maine, 
Let all exult! for we have met the enemy again; 
Beneath their stern old mountains we have met them in 
their pride. 



132 

And rolled from Buena Vista back the battle's bloody 
tide; 

Where the enemy came surging swift, like the Missis- 
sippi's flood. 

And the reaper, Death, with strong arms swung his 
sickle red with blood. 

Sant' Anna boasted loudly that, before two hours were 

past. 
His Lancers through Saltillo should pursue us fierce 

and fast, — 
On comes his solid infantry, line marching after line; 
Lo! their great standards in the sun like sheet§ of silver 

shine: 
With thousands upon thousands, — yea, with more 

than three to one, — 
Their forests of bright bayonets fierce-flashing in the 

sun. 

But there on Buena Vista's heights a long day's work 

was done. 
And there our brave old General another battle won. 
Still, still our glorious banner waves, unstained by flight 

or shame, 
And the ATexicans among the hills still tremble at our 

name. 
So honor unto those who stood! Disgrace to those 

that fled! 
And everlasting glory unto Buena Vista's dead. 

General Taylor defeated the Mexicans in the battle of Buena 
Vista, February 23, 1847. 

Read Ang-els of Buena Vista— WJn'ltier. 



133 



MONTEREY. 

SEPTEMBER 24. 1 846. 

Hojfiiian. 

There can be no nearer affinity than our country. — Plato. 

We were not many, we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if but he could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round him wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on, still on, our column kept. 

Through walls of flame its withering way; 
Where fell the dead, the living stept, 
Still charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast. 

When, striking where he strongest lay, 
He swooped his flanking batteries past. 
And braving full their murderous blast. 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 

Our banners on those turrets wave. 
And there our evening bugles play; 



^34 

Where orange boughs above their grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We are not many, we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day; 
But who of us has not confessed 
He'd rather share their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey? 



OLD IRONSIDES. 

Holmes. 

"Old Ironsides" was the popular name by which the frigate 
''Constitution" was known. The poem was first printed in the 
Boston Daily Advertiser, at the time when it was proposed to 
break up the old ship as unfit for service. 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky; 
Beneath it rung the battle's shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar; — 
The meteor of the ocean's air 

Shall sweep the land no more. 

Her deck — once red with heroes' blood, 
Where knelt the vanquished foe, 

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 
And waves were white below — 

No more shall feel the victor's tread. 
Or know the conquered knee; — 



135 

The harpies of the shore shall pluck 
The eagle of the sea! 

O, better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave: 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail; 
And give her to the god of storms. 

The lightning and the gale! 



SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 

MAY, 1861. 

Taylor. 

Bayard Taylor (1825-1 878), a well-known traveler and writer, 
was born at Kennett Square, Pa. 

It is sweet and glorious to die for one's country. — Horace. 

An old and crippled veteran to the War Department 

came ; 
He sought the Chief who led him on many a field of 

fame — 
The Chief who shouted " Forward " where'er his banner 

rose, 
And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. 

" Have you forgotten. General," the battered soldier 

cried, 
*' The days of Eighteen Hundred Twelve, when I was at 

your side? 



136 

Have yon forgotten Jolmson, that fonght at Lnndy's 

Lane? 
'Tis trne I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight 

again." 

" Have I forgotten? " said the Chief; " my brave old 

soldier, no! 
And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell 

you so: 
But you have done your share, my friend; you're 

crippled, old, and gray. 
And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood 

to-day." 

" But General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, 
" The very men who fought with us, they say, are 

traitors now; 
They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane — our old red, 

white, and blue; 
And while a drop of blood is left, Lll show that drop is 

true. 

" I'm not so weak but T can strike, and I've a good old 

gun 
To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them, one 

by one. 
Your Minie rifles, and such arms, it a'n't worth while 

to try; 
I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder 

dry! " 

" God bless you, comrade! " said the Chief; " God bless 
vour loval heart! 



^2>7 

But yoiingei' men arc in the field, and claim to have 

their part; 
They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town, 
And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it 

clown! " 

'■' But General " — still persisting, the weeping veteran 

cried, 
" I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my 

guide; 
And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at 

least can I, — 
So give the voung ones place to fight, but me a place to 

die! ' 

" If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in com- 
mand 

Put me upon the rampart, with the flagstaff in my 
hand : 

No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shells 
may fly; 

I'll hold the stars and stripes aloft, and hold them till 
I die! 

" I'm ready, General, so you let a post to me be given, 
Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest 

heaven. 
And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be. General 

Wayne: 
' There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy's 

Lane!' 

" And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly. 
When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the 
sky, 



138 

If any shot should hit me, and lay mc on my face, 
My soul would go to Washington's and not to Arnold's 
place!" 



THE PICKET GUARD. 

Ethel Lynn Dccrs. 

Do but think how well the same he spends 
Who spends his blood his country to reheve. 

— Daniel. 

Now the hour of rest 

Hath come to thee. — Longfellow. 

" All quiet along the Potomac," they say, 

" Except now and then a stray picket 
Is shot as he walks on his beat to and h'o, 

By a rifleman hid in the thicket." 
'Tis nothing — a private or two now and then 

Will not count in the news of the battle; 
Not an ofificer lost — only one of the men 

Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle. 

All quiet along the Potomac to-day, 

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; 
Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon 

Or the light of the watch fire, are gleaming. 
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind 

Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; 
While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes, 

Keep guard, for the army is sleeping. 

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread 
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain. 



139 

And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, 

Far away in the cot on the mountain. 
His musket falls slack — his face, dark and grim, 

Grows gentle with memories tender, 
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep — 

For their mother — may Heaven defend her! 

Tlie moon seems to shine just as brightly as on 

That night when the love yet unspoken 
Leaped up to his lips — when low-murmured vows 

Were pledged to be ever unbroken. 
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, 

He dashes ofif tears that are welling, 
And gathers his gun closer up to its place, 

As if to keep dov^^n the heart-swelling. 

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree. 

The footstep is lagging and weary; 
Yet onward he .^oes through the broad belt of light, 

Toward the shade of the forest so dreary. 
Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves? 

Was it moonlight so wonderously flashing? 
It looked like a rifle — " Ha! Mary, good-by!" 

And the lifeblood is ebbing and plashing. 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night. 

No sound save the rush of the river; 
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead — 

The picket's off duty forever! 

Read Killed at the Ford, and A Nameless Grave. — Loiigfelloiv. 



140 



THE CAVALRY CHARGE. 

Taylor. 

Benjamin Franklin Taylor (1822-1887) was born at Lowville, 
N. Y. His best known poems are "The Isle of the Long Ago " 
and "The Old Village Choir." 

Singing of men that in battle array, 
Ready in heart and ready in hand, 

March with banner, and bugle, and fife, 

To the death, for their native land. - Te?inyson. 

Hark! the rattling roll of the musketeers, 

And the ruffled drums and the rallying cheers, 

And the rifles burn with a keen desire 

Like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire, 

And the singing shot and the shrieking shell. 

And the splintered fire of the shattered hell, 

And the great white breaths of the cannon smoke 

As the growling guns by batteries spoke; 

And the ragged gaps in the walls of blue 

Where the iron surge rolled heavily through. 

That the colonel builds with a breath again,, 

As he cleaves the din with his " Close up, men! " 

And the groan torn out from the blackened lips, 

And the prayer doled slow with the crimson drips, 

And the beaming look in the dying eye 

As under clouds the stars go by, 

" But his soul marched on," the captain said. 

" For the Boy in Blue can never be dead! " 

And the troopers sit in their saddles all 

Like statues carved in an ancient hall. 

And they watch the whirl from their breathless ranks, 

And their spurs are close to the horses' flanks, 

And the fingers work of the saber hand — 



o 




142 

O, to bid them live, and to make them grand! 

And the bugle sounds to the charge at last, 

And away they plunge, and the front is passed! 

And the jackets blue grow red as they ride, 

And the scabbards too that clank by their side, 

And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod 

As they gallop right on o'er the plashy red sod — 

Right into the cloud all spectral and dim, 

Right up to the guns black-throated and grim, 

Right down on the hedges bordered with steel, 

Right through the dense columns, then " right about 

wheel!" 
Hurrah! A new swath through the harvest again! 
Hurrah for the flag! To the battle, Amen! 



READY. 

Phoebe Cary, 



" Make way for liberty ! " he cried, — 
Made way for liberty and died ! — Montgomery. 

Loaded with gallant soldiers, 

A boat shot in to the land. 
And lay at the right of Rodman's Point, 

With her keel upon the sand. 

Lightly, gayly, they came to shore, 

And never a man afraid; 
When sudden the enemy opened fire 

From his deadly ambuscade. 

Each man fell flat on the bottom 
Of the boat; and the captain said: 

*' If we lie here, we all are captured. 
And the first who moves is dead! " 



143 

Then out spoke a negro sailor, 

No slavish soul had he: 
" Somebody's got to die, boys, ' 

And it might as well be me! " 

Firmly he rose, and fearlessly 

Stepped out into the tide; 
He pushed the vessel safely off. 

Then fell across her side: 

Fell, pierced by a dozen bullets. 
As the boat swung clear and free; 

But there wasn't a man of them that day 
Who was fitter to die than he! 



THE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR. 

1862. 

George M. Baker. 

*' Onward, 'tis our country needs us. 
Honor's self now proudly leads us! 
Freedom ! God, and Right!" 

Out of a Northern city's bay, 

'Neath lowering clouds, one bleak March day. 

Glided a craft, — the like I ween, 

On ocean's crest was never seen 

Since Noah's float, 

That ancient boat. 
Could o'er a conquered deluge gloat. 

No raking masts, with clouds of sail. 
Bent to the breeze or braved the gale; 



144 

No towering chimney's wreaths of smoke 
Betrayed the mighty engine's stroke; 
But low and dark, 
Like the crafty shark, 
Moved in the waters this novel bark. 

The fishers stared as the flitting sprite 
Passed their huts in the misty light. 
Bearing a turret huge and black 
And said, " The old sea serpent's back. 

Carting away, 

By light of day, 
Uncle Sam's fort from New York bay." 

Forth from a Southern city's dock, 
Our frigates' strong blockade to mock, 
Crept a monster of rugged build, 
The work of crafty hands, well skilled — 

Old Merrimac, 

With an iron back 
Wooden ships would find hard to crack. 

Straight to where the Cumberland lay 
The, mail-clad monster made its way; 
Its deadly prow struck deep and sure, 
And the hero's fighting' days were o'er. 
Ah! many the braves 
Who found their graves 
With that good ship beneath the waves. 

[But with their fate is glory wrought. 
Those hearts of oak like heroes fought 



145 

With desperate hope to win the clay, 
And crush the foe that -fore them lay. 

Our flag uprun, 

The last-fired gun 
Tokens how bravely duty was done.] 

Flushed with success, the victor flew, 
Furious, the startled squadron through; 
Sinking, burning, driving ashore, 
Until the Sabbath day was o'er, 

Resting at night. 

To renew the fight 
With vengehd ire by morning's light. 

Out of its den it burst anew, 
When the gray mist the sun broke through, 
Steaming to where, in clinging sands, 
The frigate Minnesota stands, 

A sturdy foe 

To overthrow, 
But in woeful plight to receive a blow. 

But see! beneath her bow^ appears 
A champion no danger fears; 
A pigmy craft, that seems to be. 
To this new lord that rules the sea. 

Like David of old 

To GoHath bold — 
Youth and giant, by scripture told. 

Round the roaring despot playing, 
With willing spirit helm obeying, 

PER. OUR COUNTRY — lO 



146 

Spurning the iron against it hurled, 
While belching turret rapid whirled, 

And swift shots seethe, 

With smoky wreath, 
Told that the shark was showing his teeth, — 

The Monitor fought. In grim amaze 
The Merrimacs upon it gaze, 
Cowering 'neath the iron hail, 
Crashing into their coat of mail. 

They swore " this craft, 

The devil's shaft, 
Looked like a cheese-box on a raft," 

Hurrah! little giant of '62! 
Bold Worden with his gallant crew 
Forces the fight; the day is won; 
Back to his den the monster's gone. 

With crippled claws 

And broken jaws, 
Defeated in a reckless cause. 

Hurrah for the master mind that wrought. 
With iron hand, this iron thought! 
Strength and safety with speed combined, 
Ericsson's gift to all mankind; 

To curb abuse, 

And chains to loose, 
Hurrah for the Monitor's famous cruise! 

The battle between the Monitor and the Merriinac was fought 
in Hampton Roads, Virginia, March 9, 1862. 



147 

KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES. 

MAY 31, 1862. 

Stcdinan. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman (1833- ), an author of note, was 
born at Hartford, Conn. 

This is my own, my native land ! — Scott. 

General Philip Kearney lost his life at the battle of Chantilly, 
Va., September i, 1862, by becoming separated from his men and 
riding by mistake into the Confederate line. 

So that soldierly legend is still on its journey — 

That story of Kearney who knew not to yield! 
'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry and 
Birney, 
Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. 
Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose 
highest, 
Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak 
and pine, 
Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest. 
No charge like Phil Kearney's along the whole line. 

When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, 
Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our 
ground, 
He rode down the length of the withering column, 

And his heart at our war cry leaped up with a l)ound. 
He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder, — 

His sword waved us on, and we answered the sign; 
Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the 
louder: 
" There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole 
line!" 



148 

How he strode his Ijrown steed! How we saw his 
blade Ijrighten 

In the one hand still left — and the reins in his teeth! 
He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, 

But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. 
Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, , 

Asking where to go in — through the clearing or 
pine? 
'* O, anywhere! Forward! 'Tis all the same. Colonel: 

You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line! " 

O, evil the l)lack shroud of night at Chantilly, 

That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! 
Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, 

The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's 
pride! 
Yet we dream that he still — in that shadowy region 

Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drum- 
mer's sign — 
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion. 

And the word still is Forward! along the whole line. 



FREDERICKSBURG. 

DECEMBER I 3, I 862. 
Aldrich. 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836- ), an eminent author, was 
born in Portsmouth, N. H. 

" On, on to the combat ! the heroes that bleed 
For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed ! " 

The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed, 
And on the churchyard by the road, I know 
It falls as white and noiselessly as snow. 



149 

'Twas such a night two weary summers lied. 

The stars, as now, were waning overhead. 

Listen! Again the shrill-Hpped bugles blow 
Where the swift currents of the river flow 

Past Fredericks1nu-g: far otT the heavens are red 
With sudden conflagration: on yon height, 
Linstock in hand, the gunners hold their l^reath: 

A signal-rocket pierces the dense night, 

Flings its spent stars upon the town beneath: 

Hark! the artillery massing on the right. 

Hark! tlie black squadrons wheeling down to Death. 



KEENAN'S CHARGE. 

LatJirop. 

George Parsons Lathrop (1851-1892), journalist, was born at 
Honolulu, Hawaii. 

March on ! March on ! all hearts resolved 

On victory or death. — Tlie Maj'seillaise Hymn. 

At the battle of Chancellorsville, Va., May 2, 1863, it became 
necessary to bring a Federal battery into position to resist a 
sudden onset by Stonewall Jackson. To gain a few minutes' 
time, Major Peter Keenan, of the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, 
was ordered to charge the enemy ; and, with three or four 
hundred men, he rode against ten thousand, in a charge as gallant 
as that of the Light Brigade. 

By the shrouded gleam of the western skies, 
Brave Keenan looked in Pleasanton's eyes 
For an instant — clear, and cool, and still; 
Then, with a smile, he said: " I will." 
" Cavalry, charge! " Not a man of theili shrank, 
Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, 



150 

Rose joyously, with a willing breath — ■ 

Rose like a greeting hail to death. 

Then forward they sprang, and spurred and clashed; 

Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed; 

Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, 

In their faded coats of blue and yellow; 

And above in the air, with an instinct true, 

Like a bird of war their pennon flew. 

With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds. 
And blades that shine like sunlit reeds. 
And strong brown faces bravely pale 
For fear their proud attempt shall fail, 
Three hundred Pennsylvanians close 
On twice ten thousand gallant foes. 

Line after line the troopers came 

To the edge of the wood that was ringed with flame; 

Rode in and sabered and shot — and fell: 

Nor came one back his wounds to tell. 

And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall 

In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall, 

While the circle-stroke of the saber, swung 

'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung. 

Line after line; ay, whole platoons. 

Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons 

By the maddened horses were onward borne 

And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn; 

As Keenan fought with his men, side by side. 

So they rode, till there were no more to ride. 
But over them, lying there, shattered and mute. 
What deep echo rolls? — 'Tis a death salute 



151 

From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved 
Your fate not in vain; the army was saved! 

Over them now — year following year — 

Over the graves, the pine cones fall, 

And the whip-poor-will chants his specter-call; 

But they stir not again; they raise no cheer; 

They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease, 

Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace. 

The rush of their charge is sounding still. 

That saved the army at Chancellorsville. 



THE BLACK REGIMENT. 

PORT HUDSON, LA., JUNE. 1863. 

Geo. H. Boker. 

Loose the folds asunder 

Flag we conquer under. — Welch Song. 

Dark as the clouds of even, 
Ranked in the western heaven, 
Waiting the breath that lifts 
All the dread mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falling brand 
Over a ruined land ; — 
So still and orderly, 
Arm to arm, knee to knee. 
Waiting the great event, 
Stands the Black Regiment. 

Down the long dusky line 
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; 



And the bright ba}onet, 
Bristling and firmly set, 
Flashed with a purpose grand, 
Long ere the sharp command 
Of the fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come, 
Told them what work was sent 
For the Black Regiment. 



-&' 



" Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
" Though death and hell betide, 
Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be 
Free in this land; or bound 
Down, like the whining hound, — 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our old chains again! " 
Oh, what a shout there went 
From the Black Regiment! " 

" Charge! " Trump and drum awoke. 
Onward the bondmen broke; 
Bayonet and saber stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush. 
With 1)ut one thought aflush, 
Driving their lords like chaff. 
In the guns' mouths they laugh; 
Or at the slippery brands 
Leaping with open hands. 
Down they tear man and horse, 
Down in their awful course; 
Trampling with bloodv heel 
Over the crashing steel. 



oo 



iVll their eyes forward bent, 
Rushed the Blaek Regniieiit. 

" Freedom! "' their battle cry — 
" Freedom! or leave to die! " 
Ah! and they meant the word, 
Not as with us 'tis heard, 
Not a mere party shout: 
They gave their spirits out; 
Trusted the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
Rolled in triumphant blood. 
Glad to strike one free blow, 
Whether for weal or woe; 
Glad to breathe one free breath, 
Though on the lips of death; 
Praying, — alas! in vain! 
That they might fall again. 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty! 
This was what " freedom " lent 
To the Black Regiment. 

Hundreds on hundreds fell; 
But they are resting well; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do thenr wrong. 
Oh, to the li\ing few. 
Soldiers, be just and true! 
Hail them as comrades tried; 
Fio-ht with them side bv side. 
Never in Field or tent. 
Scorn the Black Regiment. 



154 

JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 

Bret Hartc. 

Bret Harte (1839- ) was born in Albany, N. Y. He has 
written many poems of Western life. 

" Wave, wave, your glorious battle-flags, brave soldiers of the 
North 
And from the fields your arms have won to-day, go proudly 
forth !" 

Have you heard the story that gossips tell 

Of Burns of Gettysburg? No? Ah, well; 

Brief is the glory that hero earns, 

Briefer the story of poor John Burns; 

He was the fellow who won renown — 

The only man who didn't back down 

When the rebels rode through his native town; 

But held his own in the fight next day, 

When all his townsfolk ran away. 

That was in July, sixty-three, — 

The very day that General Lee, 

Flower of Southern chivalry. 

Baffled and beaten, backward reeled 

From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. 

I might tell how, but the day before, 
John Burns stood at his cottage door. 
Looking down the village street, 
Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine. 
He heard the low of his gathered kine, 
And felt their breath with incense sweet; 
Or, I might say, when the sunset burned 
The old farm gable, he thought it turned 
The milk that fell like a babbling flood 
Into the milk pail, red as blood; 



155 



Or, how he fancied the hum of bees 

Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 

But all such fanciful thoughts as these 

Were strange to a practical man like Burns, 

Who minded only his own concerns, 

Troubled no more by fancies fine 

Than one of his calm-eyed long-tailed kine, - 

Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, 

Slow to argue but quick to act. 

That was the reason, as some folk say. 

He fought so well on that terrible day. 

And it was terrible. On the right 

Raged for hours the heady fight, 

Thundered the battery's double bass — 

Difificult music for men to face; 

While on the left — where now the graves 

Undulate like living waves 

That all the day unceasing swept 

Up to the pits the rebels kept — 

Round-shot ploughed the upland glades, 

Sown with bullets, reaped with blades; 

Shattered fences here and there. 

Tossed their splinters in the air; 

The very trees were stripped and bare; 

The barns that once held yellow grain 

Were heaped with harvests of the slain; 

The cattle bellowed on the plain. 

The turkeys screamed with might and main, 

And brooding barn fowl left their rest 

With strange shells bursting in each nest. 

Just where the tide of battle turns. 
Erect and lonely, stood old John Burns. 



t5^> 



How do you think the man was dressed? 

He wore an ancient, long l)uff vest. 

Yellow as saffron — Ijut his Ijest ; 

And buttoned over his manly breast 

Was a bright blue coat with a rolling collar, 

And large gilt buttons — size of a dollar, — 

With tails that the country folk called " swaller." 

He wore a broad-brimmed, bell crowned hat. 

White as the locks on which it sat. 

Never had such a sight been seen 
For forty years on the village green, 
Since old John Burns was a country beau. 
And went to the quiltings long ago. 

Close at his elbows all that day 
Veterans of the Peninsula, 
Sunburnt and bearded, charged away; 
And striplings, downy of lip and chin, — 
Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, — 
Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore. 
Then at the rifle his right hand bore; 
And hailed him, from out their youthful lore, 
With scraps of slangy repertoire: 
" How are you, White Hat? " " Put her through! 
" Your head's level! " and " Bully for you! " 
Called him "Daddy," — begged he'd disclose 
The name of the tailor who made his clothes, 
And what was the value he set on those; 
While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff. 
Stood there picking the rebels off — 
With his long brown rifle, and bell crowned hat. 
\nd the swallowtails they were laughing at. 



157 



'Twas Ijiit a moment, for that respect 

Which clothes aU courage their voices checked; 

And something the wildest could understand 

Spake in the old man's strong right hand, 

And his corded throat, and the lurking frown 

Of his eyebrows under his old bell crown; 

Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe 

Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, 

In the antique vestments and long white hair, 

The Past of the Nation in battle there; 

And some of the soldiers since declare 

That the gleam of his old white hat afar, 

Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 

That dav was their oriflamme of war. 



Thus raged the battle. You know the rest; 

How the rebels, 1)eaten, and l)ack\var(l pressed, 

Broke at the final charge and ran. 

At which John Burns — a practical man — 

Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows. 

And then went iiack to his bees and cows. 

That is the story of old John Burns; 

This is the moral the reader learns: 

In fighting the battle, the question's wliether 

You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather. 

John Burns wns born in Burlinsrton, N. J., Sept. 5, 1793, and 
died in Gettysburg-, Pa . Sept. 7, 1872. He fought in the war of 
1812, and in the war with Mexico; he was one of the first to 
volunteer for the civil war, but was rejected on account of his 
advanced age. 

Rfpcrtoire — Vocabularv, or stock of words. N'avarre — King- 
Henry of France. 



159 

ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG. 

NOVEMBER 19, 1863. 

Abraham Lincoln. 

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought 
forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in 
liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that ah men 
are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great 
civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so 
conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. 

We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We 
have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final 
resting place for those who here gave their hves that 
that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and 
proper that we should do this. 

But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot 
consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave 
men, living and dead, who struggled here, have conse- 
crated it far above our poor power to add or detract. 

The world will little note, nor long remember, what 
we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. 

It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to 
the unfinished work which they who fought here have 
thus far so nobly advanced. 

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great 
task remaining before us, that from these honored dead 
we take increased devotion to that cause for which they 
gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here 
highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in 
vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth 
of freedom, and that government of the people, by the 
people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 



i6o 

THE BATTLE ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 

Howells. 

William Dean Howells (1837- ) was born at Martin's 
Ferry, Ohio. His works are noted for their delicate and accurate 
portrayal of character. 

[The day had been one of dense mists and rains, and much of 
General Hooker's battle was fought above the clouds, on the top 
of Lookout Mountain. — General Meigs's Report of t lie Battle before 
Chattanooga, Nov. 23-25, 1S63.] 

Where the dews and the rains of heaven have their 
fountain, 
Like its thunder and its hghtning our brave burst on 
the foe, 
Up above the clottds on Freedom's Lookotit Mountain, 
Raining hfeblood Hke water on the vaUays down 
below. 
O, green be the laurels that grow, 
O, sweet be the wild buds that blow. 
In the dells of the mountains where the brave are 
lying low. 

Light of our hope and crown of our story, 

Bright as sunlight, pure as starlight shall their deeds 
of daring glow. 
While the day and the night out of heaven shed their 
glory. 
On Freedom's Lookout Mountain when they routed 
Freedom's foe. 
O. soft be the gales where they go 
Throttgh the pines on the summit where they 1)low, 
Chanting solenm music \v>x the souls that passed 
below. 




I (14 



l62 

THE SOLDIER'S REPRIEVE. 

Mrs. Robbins. 

With malice toward none 
With charity for all. — Lmcoln. 

" I thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my Bennie to his 
country, that not a father in all this broad land made so 
precious a gift — no, not one. This dear boy only slept 
a minute, just one little minute, at his post; I know 
that was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How 
prompt and reliable he was! I know he only fell asleep 
one little second — he was so young, and not strong, 
that boy of mine. Why, he was as tall as I, and only 
eighteen! And now they shoot him because he was 
found asleep when doing sentinel duty. Twenty-four 
hours the telegram said, only twenty-four hours. 
Where is Bennie now? " 

'' We will hope with his heavenly Father," said Mr. 
Allen, soothingly. 

" Yes, yes; let us hope; God is very merciful! " 
" ' I should be ashamed, father,' Bennie said, ' when 
1 am a man, to think I never used this great right arm ' 
— and he held it out so proudly before me — ' for my 
country, when it needed it. Palsy it rather than keep 
it at the plow.' 

Go, then, go, my boy,' T said, ' and God keep 
you! ' God has kept him, I think, Mr. Allen! " and the 
farmer repeated these last words slowly, as if, in spite 
of his reason, his heart doubted them. 

" Like the apple of his eye, Mr. Owen, doubt it not! " 

Blossom sat near them listening, with blanched 

cheek. She had not shed a tear. Her anxiety had 



'ss-s-^sTs^^spsirafMrw:^ 1 




The Soldier's Reprieve. 



xC3 



164 

1)een so concealed that no one had noticed it. She had 
occupied herself mechanically in the household cares. 
Now she answered a gentle tap at the kitchen door, 
opening it to receive from a neighbor's hand a letter. 
" It is from him," was all she said. 

It was like a message from the dead! Mr. Owen 
took the letter but could not break the envelope, on 
account of his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr. 
Allen, with the helplessness of a child. 

The minister opened it, and read as follows: — 

" Dear Father: — When this reaches you, I shall be 
in eternity. At first, it seemed awful to me; but I have 
thought about it so much now, that it has no terror. 
They say they will not bind me, nor blind me; l)ut that 
I may meet my death like a man. I thought, father, it 
might have been on the battle field, for my counrty, and 
that, when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously; but 
to l)e shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it, — 
to die for neglect of duty! O, father, I wonder the very 
thought does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you. 
I am going to write you all about it; and when I am 
gone, you may tell my comrades. I cannot now. 

" You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother, I 
would look after her boy; and, when he fell sick, I did 
all I could for him. He was not strong when he was 
ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that 
night, T carried all his luggage, besides my own, on our 
march. Toward night we went in on double-quick, 
and though the luggage began to feel very heavy, every 
body else was tired too; and as for Jemmie, if T had not 
lent him an arm now and then, he would have dropped 
by the wav. I was all tired out when we carne into 
camp, and then it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry, and 



i65 

1 would take his place; but 1 was too tired, father. 1 
could not have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at 
my head; but I did not know it until — well, until it 
was too late." 

" God be thanked! " interrupted Mr. Owen, rever- 
ently. " I knew Bennie was not the boy to sleep care- 
lessly at his post." 

" They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve, — 
given to me by circumstances, — ' time to write to you,' 
our good Colonel says. Forgive him, father, he only 
does his duty; he would gladly save me if he could; and 
do not lay my death up against Jemmie. llie poor boy 
is broken-hearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat 
them to let him die in my stead. 

" I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom. Com- 
fort them, father! Tell them I die as a brave boy 
should, and that, when the war is over, they will not be 
ashamed of me, as they must be now. God help me; 
it is very hard to bear! Good-by, father! God seems 
near and dear to me; not at all as if He wished me to 
perish forever, but as if He felt sorry for his poor, sinful, 
broken-hearted child, and would take me to be with 
Him and my Savior in a better — better life." 

A deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen's heart. " Amen," 
he said solemnly, — " Amen." 

" To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows 
all coming home from pasture, and precious little Blos- 
som stand on the back stoop, waiting for me, — but T 
shall never, never come! God bless you all! Forgive 
your poor Bennie." 

Late that night the door of the " back stoop " opened 
softly, and a little figure glided out, and down the foot- 
path that led to the road by the mill. She seemed 



1 66 



rather flying than walking, turning her head neither to 
the right nor the left, looking only now and then to 
Heaven, and folding her hands, as if in prayer. Two 
hours later, the same young girl stood at the Mill 
Depot, watching the coming of the night train; and 
the conductor, as he reached down to lift her into the 
car, wondered at the tear-stained face that was upturned 
toward the dim lantern he held in his liand. A few 
questions and ready answers told him all; and no father 
could have cared more tenderly for his only child, than 
he for our little Blossom. 

She was on her way to Washington, to ask President 
Lincoln for her brother's life. She had stolen away, 
leaving only a note to tell her father where and why she 
had gone. She had brought Bennie's letter with her: 
no good, kind heart, like the President's could refuse 
to be melted by it. 

The next morning they reached New York, and the 
conductor hurried her on to Washington. Every 
minute, now, might be the means of saving her 
brother's life. And, so, in an incredibly short time. 
Blossom reached the capital, and hastened immediately 
to the White House. 

The President had just seated himself to his morning 
task of looking over and signing important papers, 
when, without one word of announcement, the door 
softly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and 
folded hands, stood before him. 

"Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheer- 
ful tones, " what do you want so bright and early in the 
morning? " 

" Bennie's life, please, sir," faltered Blossom. 

" Bennie? Who is Bennie? " 



167 

" My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for 
sleeping at his post." 

" Oh, yes; " and Mr. Lincohi ran his eyes over the 
papers before him. " I remember. It was a fatal sleep. 
You see, child, it was a time of special danger. Thou- 
sands of lives might have been lost for his negligence." 

" So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely. 
"But poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so 
weak. He did the work of two, sir, and it was Jem- 
mie's night, not his; but Jemmie was too tired, and 
Bennie never thought about himself, that he was tired, 
too." 

" What is this you say, child? Come here; I do not 
understand; " and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, 
at what seemed a justification of an ofYense. 

Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on 
her shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face 
toward his. How tall he seemed; and he was the Presi- 
dent of the United States, too! A dim thought of this 
kind passed for a moment through Blossom's mind; but 
she told her simple and straightforward story, and 
handed Bennie's letter to Mr. Lincoln. 

He read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote 
a few hasty lines and rang his bell. Blossom heard this 
order given: " Send this dispatch at once." The Presi- 
dent then turned to the girl and said, " Go home, my 
child, and tell your father, who could approve his 
country's sentence even when it took the life of a child 
like that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too 
precious to be lost. Go back, or — wait until to-mor- 
row; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely 
faced death; he shall go with you." 



108 



" God l:)less you, sir," said Blossom; and who shall 
doubt that God heard that prayer? 

Two days after this interview, the young soldier came 
to the White House with his little sister. He was called 
into the President's j^rivate room, and a strap was fas- 
tened upon his shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said, " The 
soldier that could carry a sick comrade's baggage and 
die for the act so uncomplainingly, deserves well of his 
country." Then Bennie and Blossom took their way 
to their Green Mountain home. A crowd gathered at 
the Mill Depot to welcome them back; and, as Farmer 
Owen's hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down 
his cheeks, and he said fervently, '" Tlic Lord be f>raiscd." 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 

OCTOBER 19, 1864. 

T. B. Read. 

But when your country called you forth, 

Your flaming courage and your matchless worth. 

To fierce contention gave a prosperous end. -- Waller 

Up from the south, at break of day, 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay. 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door. 
The terrible grumble, and rumble and roar, 
Telling the battle Avas on once more, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thunder'd along the horizon's bar 
And louder vet into Winchester rolled 



1 69 

The roar of that red sea uncontroll'd 
Making the Ijlood of the hstener cold, 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
With Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town. 

A good broad highway leading down. 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 

A steed, as black as the steeds of night. 

Was seen to pass as with eagle flight — 

As if he knew the terrible need. 

He stretched away with the utmost speed; 

Hills rose and fell — but his heart was gay, 

With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South, 
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, 
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster. 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster; 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls. 
Impatient to be where the battlefield calls; 
Every nerve of tiie charger was strained to full play 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed. 

And the landscape sped away behind 

Like an ocean flying before the wind: 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire. 

Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire. 

But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire — 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 

With Sheridan onlv five miles awav. 



170 

The first that the General saw were the groups 

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; — 

What was done — what to do — a glance told him both, 

Then striking his spurs with a muttered oath. 

He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs, 

And the wave of retreat checked its course there because 

The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 

With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; 

By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play, 

He seemed to the whole great army to say, 

" / liavc brought you Sheridan all the ivay 

From WincJiester down to save the day! " 

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! 

Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man! 

And when their statues are placed on high 

Under the dome of the Union sky, — 

The American soldier's temple of Fame, — 

There, with the glorious General's name, 

Be it said in letters both bold and bright: 

" Here is the steed that saved tJie day 
By carrying Sheridan into the light 

From IVinchester — twenty miles azvay!" 



CHICKAMAUGA. 

SEPTEMBER 20, 1 863. 
Butterworih. 

It was the Sabbath; and in awe 
We heard the dark hills shake. 

And o'er the mountain turrets saw 
The smoke of battle break. 



I7T 



The morning breaks with screaming guns 

From batteries dark and dire, 
And where the Chickamauga runs 

Red runs the muskets' ire. 

1 see bold Longstreet's darkening host 

Sweep through our hues of flame, 
And hear again, " The right is lost! " 

Swart Rosecrans exclaim. 
"But not the left," young Garfield cries; 

" From that you must not sever, 
While Thomas holds the field that lies 

On Chickamauga River! " 

On Mission Ridge the sunlight streams 

Above the fields of fall. 
And Chattanooga calmly dreams 

Beneath her mountain wall; 
Old Lookout Mountain towers on high, 

As in heroic days. 
When 'neath the battle of the sky 

Were seen the summit's blaze. 



MUSIC IN CAMP. 

foh7t R. Thompson. 

Tw^o armies covered hill and plain, 
Where Rappahannock's waters 

Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain 
Of battle's recent slaughters. 

Down flocked the soldiers to the banks; 
Till, margined by its pebbles, 



172 



One wooded shore was l^lue with " Yanks " 
And one was gray with " Rebels." 

Then all was still; and then the band, 
With movement light and tricksy, 

Made stream and forest, hill and strand, 
Reverberate with '* Dixie." 

The conscious stream, with burnished glow 

Went proudly o'er its pebbles, 
But thrilled throughout its deepest flow 

With yelling of the Rebels. 

Again a pause; and then again 

The trumpet pealed sonorous. 
And " Yankee Doodle " was the strain 

To which the shore gave chorus. 

The laughing ripple shoreward flew 

To kiss the shining pebbles; 
Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue 

Defiance to the Rebels. 

And yet once more the bugle sang 

Above the stormy riot; 
No shout upon the evening rang — 

There reigned a holy quiet. 

No unresponsive soul had heard 

That plaintive note's appealing, 
So deeply " Home, Sweet Home " has stirred 

The hidden founts of feelin«-. 



^73 

Or Blue or Gray, the soldier sees. 

As by the wand of fairy, 
The cottage "neath the live oak trees, 

The cabin by the prairie. 

Thus memory, waked by music's art. 

Expressed in simple numbers, 
Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart, 

Made light the Rebel's slumbers. 

y\nd fair the form of Music shines — 
That bright celestial creature — 

Who still 'mid War's embattled lines 
Gave this one touch of Nature. 



ROLL CALL. 

A^. G. Shepherd. 



From Ilar/iet's Magazine, by permission. 

"Our business is like men to fight, 
And herolike to die!" 



" Corporal Green! " the orderly cried; 
" Here! " was the answer, loud and clear. 
From the lips of the soldier who stood near, 

And " Here! " was the word the next replied. 

" Cyrus Drew! " — then a silence fell, — 
This time no answer followed the call; 
Only his rear-man had seen him fall, 

Killed or wounded, he could not tell, 



174 

There they stood in the faihng Hght, 

These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, 
As plain to be read as open books. 

While slowly gathered the shades of night. 

The fern on the hillside was splashed with blood. 
And down in the corn where the poppies grew 
Were redder stains than the poppies knew; 

And crimson-dyed was the river's fiood. 

For the foe had crossed from the other side 
That day, in the face of a murderous fire 
That swept them down in its terrible ire; 

And their lifeblood went to color the tide. 

"Herbert Kline!" At the call there came 
Two stalwart soldiers into the line, 
Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, 

Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. 

" Ezra Kerr! " — and a voice answered, " Here! " 
"Hiram Kerr!" — but no man replied. 
They were brothers, these two, the sad winds sighed. 

And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. 

" Ephraim Deane! " — then a soldier spoke: 
" Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said; 
" Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead, 
Just after the enemy wavered and broke." 

" Close to the roadside his body lies; 

I paused a moment and gave him a drink, 
And Death came with it, and closed his eyes, 

He murmured his mother's name, I think." 



175 

'Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us clear, — 
For that company's roll when called at night, 
Of a hundred men who went into the fight, 

Numbered but twenty that answered " Here! " 



CAVALRY SONG. 

Stedman. 

Our good steeds snuff the evening air, 
Our pulses with their purpose tingle; 
The foeman's fires are twinkling there; 
He leaps to hear our sabres jingle! 

Halt! 
Each carbine sends its whizzing ball: 
Now, cling! clang! forward all. 
Into the fight! 

Dash on beneath the smoking dome: 

Through level lightnings gallop nearer! 
One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home: 
The guidons that we bear are dearer. 

Charge! 
Cling! clang! forward all! 
Heaven help those whose horses fall! 
Cut left and right! 

They flee before our fierce attack! 

They fall! they spread in broken surges! 
Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, 
And leave the foeman to his dirges. 

Wheel! 
The bugles sound the swift recall: 
Cling! clang! 1:)ackward all! 

Home, and good-night! 



176 



SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA. 

Satmiel H. M. Byers. 

Savannah, Georgia, Dec. 22, 1864. 
To his Excellency^ President Lincoln^ Washington, D. C: 

I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, 
with one hundred and fifty heavy guns and plenty of ammunition ; 
also about twenty-five thousand bales of cotton. 

W. T. Sherman, MaJ.Geiil. 

Our camp fires shone bright on the mountain 

That frowned on the river below. 
As we stood by our guns in the morning. 

And eagerly watched for the foe; 
When a rider came out of the darkness 

That hung over mountain and tree, 
And shouted, " Boys, up and be ready! 

For Sherman will march to the sea! " 

Then cheer tipon cheer for bold Sherman 

Went up from each valley and glen. 
And the bugles reechoed the music 

That came from the lips of the men; 
For we knew that the stars in our banner 

More bright in their splendor wotdd be. 
And that blessings from Northland would greet us 

When Sherman marched down to the sea. 

Then forward, boys! forward to battle! 

We marched on our wearisome way, 
We stormed the wild hills of Resaca — 

God bless those who fell on that day! 
Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory, 

Frowned down on the flag of the free; 



177 



But the East and the West bore our standard, 
And Sherman marched on to the sea. 

StiH onward we pressed, till our banners 

Swept out from Atlanta's grim w^alls, 
And the blood of the patriot dampened 

The soil wdiere the traitor-flag falls; 
We paused not to weep for the fallen 

Who slept by each river and tree, 
Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel, 

As Sherman marched down to the sea. 

O, proud was our army that morning, 

That stood where the pine darkly towers, 
When Sherman said, " Boys, you are weary, 

But to-day fair Savannah is ours! " 
Then sang we the song of our chieftain. 

That echoed o'er river and lea, 
And the stars in our banner shone brighter 

When Sherman marched down to the sea. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

Finch. 

And, leaving in battle no blot on their name, 

Look proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame. " 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron had fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass cpiiver, 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead : — 
Under the sod and the dew; 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the one, the Blue; 
Under the other, the Gray. 

TKR. OUK COUNIRV — 12 



178 

These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat; 
All with the battle blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet; — 
Under the sod and the dew; 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the laurel, the Blue; 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go. 
Lovingly laden with fiowers, 

Alike for the friend and the foe; — 
Under the sod and the dew; 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the laurel, the Blue; 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

'So with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender. 

On the blossoms blooming for all; — 
Under the sod and the dew; 

Waiting for judgment day; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue; 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth 
On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drops of rain; 

Under the sod and the dew; 

Waiting for judgment day; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue; 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 



179 



Sadly, l3ut not with upbraiding, 
The generous deed was done; 
In the storm of the years, now fading. 
No braver battle was won; 

Under the sod and the dew; 

Waiting for judgment day; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue; 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war cry sever. 

Or the winding rivers be red; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead. 
Under the sod and the dew; 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Love and tears for the Blue; 
Tears and love for the Gray. 



O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 1865. 

IVa// Whitman. 

Walt Whitman (1819-1892), an eccentric poet, was born at 
West Hill, Long Island, N. Y. This poem represents the national 
government as a ship, Lincoln as the Captain, and Peace, the 
port. 

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; 

The shi[) has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought 

is won; 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and 

daring; 



i8o 

But () heart; heart! heart! 

( ) tlie bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deek my Captain Hes, 

Fallen cold and dead. 

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; 
Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle 

trills; 
For you l)Ouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the 

shores a-crowding; 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 
turning; 

Hear Captain! dear father! 

Idiis arm beneath your head; 

It is some dream that on the deck 

You've fallen cold and dead. 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still: 
My father does not feel ni}- arm, he has no pulse nor 

will; 
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed 

and done; 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 
won ; 

Exult, C^ shores, and ring, O bells! 

But T with mournful tread. 
Walk the deck where my Captain lies. 
Fallen cold and dead. 



To die is landing on some silent shore, 
Where billows never break nor tempests roar; 
Ere well we feel the friendly stroke 'tis o'er. 

— Sir Saimicl Garth. 



i8i 

DEATH OF LINCOLN. 

Bryant. 

Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, 
Gentle and merciful and just! 

Who, in the fear of God, didst bear 

The sword of power, a nation's trust! 

In sorrow by the bier we stand, 
Amid the awe that hushes all. 

And speak the anguish of a land 
That shook with horror at thy fall. 

Thy task is done; thy bonds are free; 

We bear thee to an honored grave. 
Whose proudest monument shall be 

The broken fetters of the slave. 

Pure was thy life; its l)Ioody close 
Hath placed thee with the sons of light, 

Among the noble host of those 

Who perished in the cause of right. 



THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. 

1871. 

Will Carle/on. 

From "Farm Legends," Copyright, 18S7, by H,irJ>er b' Brot/iers. 

'Twas night in the beautiful city, 

The famous and wonderful city. 

The proud and magnificent city. 

The Queen of the North and the West. 



182 



The riches of nations were gathered in wondrous and 

plentiful store; 
The swift speeding bearers of Commerce were waiting 

on river and shore; 
The great staring walls towered skyward, with visage 

undaunted and bold, 
And said, " We are ready, O Winter! come on with your 

hunger and cold! 
Sweep down with your storms from the northward! 

come out from your ice-guarded lair! 
Our larders have food for a nation! our wardrobes have 

clothing to spare! 
For off from the corn-bladed prairies, and out from the 

valleys and hills. 
The farmer has swept us his harvests, the miller has 

emptied his mills. 
And here, in the lap of our city, the treasures of autumn 

shall rest. 
In golden-crowned, glorious Chicago, " the Queen of 

the North and the West! " 

Then straight at the great, quiet city. 
The strong and over-confident city, 
The well-nigh invincible city. 
Doomed Queen of the North and the West, 
The Fire-devil rallied his legions, and speeded them 

forth on the wind. 
With tinder and treasures before him, with ruin and 

tempests behind. 
The tenement crushed 'neath his footstep, the mansion 

oped wide at his knock. 
And walls that had frowned him defiance, they trembled 
and fell with a shock. 



1 83 

And down on the hot, smoking housetops came raining 

a dehige of fire; 
And serpents of flame writhed and clambered, and 

twisted on steeple and spire; 
And beautiful, glorious Chicago, the city of riches and 

fame. 
Was swept by a storm of destruction, was flooded by 

billows of flame. 
The Fire-king loomed high in his glory, with crimson 

and flame-streaming crest, 
And grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago, doomed 

Queen of the North and the West. 

O crushed but invincible city! 
O broken but fast-rising city! 
O glorious and unconquered city. 
Still Queen of the North and the West! 
The long golden years of thy future, with treasures 

increasing and rare. 
Shall glisten upon thy rich garments, shall twine in the 

folds of thy hair! 
From out the black heaps of thy ruins new columns of 

beauty shall rise, 
And glittering domes shall fling grandly our nation's 

proud flag to the skies! 
From ofT thy wide prairies of splendor the treasures of 

Autumn shall pour, 
The breezes shall sweep from the northward, and hurry 

the ships to thy shore! 
For Heaven will look downward in mercy on those 

who've passed under the rod. 
And happ'ly again they will prosper, and bask in the 

blessings of God. 




Battle of the Bl^ Horn. —Death of Custer. 



185 



Once more shall thou stand mid the cities, l)y prosper- 
ous breezes caressed, 

O grand and unconquered Chicago, still Queen of the 
North and the West! 



CUSTER'S LAST CHARGE. 

Frederick IVhittakcr. 

General George A. Custer and all his men were killed June 
25, 1876, near the Big Horn River in Montana Territory in an 
attack upon the Sioux Indians. 

Death is the worst ; a fate which all must try 
And for our country 'tis a bliss to die. — Iliad. 

Dead! Is it possible? He, the bold rider, 

Custer, our hero, the first in the fight, 
Charming the Indlets of 3'ore to fly wider. 

Far from our battle-king's ringlets of light! 
Dead, our young chieftain, and dead, all forsaken! 

No one to tell us the way of his fall! 
Slain in the desert, and never to waken, 

Never, not even to victory's call! 

Proud for his fame that last day that he met them! 

All the night long he had been on their track, 
Scorning their traps and the men that had set them, 

W'ild for a charge that should never give back. 
There on the hilltop he halted and saw them, — 

Lodges all loosened and ready to fl}'^; 
Hurrying scouts with the tidings to awe them. 

Told of his coming before he was nigh. 



i86 



All the wide valley was full of their forces, 

Gathered to cover the lodges' retreat! — ■ 
Warriors running in haste to their horses, 

Thousands of enemies close to his feet! 
Down in the valleys the ages had hollowed, 

There lay the Sitting Bull's camp for a prey! 
Numbers! What recked he? What recked those who 
followed — 

Men who had fought ten to one ere that day? 

Out swept the squadrons, the fated three hundred, 

Into the battle-line steady and full; 
Then down the hillside exultingly thundered, 

Into the hordes of tire old Sitting Bull! 
Wild Ogalallah, Arapahoe, Cheyenne, 

Wild Horse's braves, and the rest of their crew, 
Shrank from that charge like a herd from a lion, — 

Then closed around, the grim horde of wild Sioux! 

Right to their center he charged, and then facing — 

Hark to those yells! and around them, O see! 
Over the hilltops the Indians come racing. 

Coming as fast as the waves of the sea! 
Red was the circle of fire about them; 

No hope of victory, no ray of light, 
Shot through that terrible black cloud without them, 

Brooding in death over Custer's last fight. 

Then did he blench? Did he die like a craven, 
Begging those torturing fiends for his life? 

Was there a soldier who carried the Seven 

Flinched like a coward or fled from the strife? 

No, by the blood of our Custer, no quailing! 
There in the midst of the Indians they close, 



18; 

Hemmed in by thousands, but ever assailing, 
Fighting like tigers, all 'bayed amid foes! 

Thicker and thicker the bullets came singing; 

Down go the horses and riders and all; 
Swiftly the warriors round them were ringing, 

Circling like buzzards awaiting their fall. 
See the wild steeds of the mountain and prairie, 

Savage eyes gleaming from forests of mane; 
Quivering lances with pennons so airy, 

War-painted warriors charging amain. 

Backward, again and again, they were driven, 

Shrinking to close with the lost little band; 
Never a cap that had worn the bright Seven 

Bowed till its wearer was dead on the strand. 
Closer and closer the death circle growing. 

Even the leader's voice, clarion clear, 
Rang out his words of encouragement glowing, 

" We can but die once, boys, — we'll sell our lives 
dear! " 

Dearly they sold them like Berserkers raging. 

Facing the death that encircled them round; 
Death's bitter pangs by their vengeance assauging. 

Marking their tracks l:)y their dead on the ground. 
Comrades, our children shall yet tell their story, — • 

Custer's last charge on the old Sitting Bull; 
And ages shall swear that the cup of his glory 

Needed but that death to render it full. 

Sette7i is the number of the res^iment, the " Seventh U. S. 
Cavalry." 

Berserkers were mythical Norse heroes who were subject to 
fits of wild furv in battle during which they were reputed to be 
proof against fire and steel. 



PRESIDENT GARFIELD. 

LongfcUoxv. 

James Abram Garfield, twentieth president of the United 
States, was born in Orange, Ohio, Nov. 19, 1831. He was shot 
by an assassin July 2, 1881, and died Sept. 19, 1881. 

E venni dal martirio a questa pace. 

— Paradiso, xv, 148. 

These words the poet heard in Paradise, 

Uttered Ijy one who, l^ravely dying here, 

In the true faith was Hving in that sphere 
Where the celestial cross of sacrifice 
Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies; 

The souls magnanimous, tliat knew not fear. 
Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes. 

And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear, 
Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain. 

Were not the suffering followed by the sense, 

Of infinite rest and infinite .release! 
This is our consolation; and again 
A great soul cries to us in our suspense, 

"I came from martyrdom unto this i)eace!" 



THE PRIVATE SOLDIER. 

U. S. Grant. 



What saved the country was the coming forward of 
the young men of the nation. They came from their 
hoines and their fields, as they did in the time of the 
Revolution, giving everything to their country. To 



' . . I lll 141 



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their devotion we owe the salvation of the Union. The 
humblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as 
much credit for the results of the war as those who were 
in command. So long as our young men are animated 
by this spirit there will be no fear for the Union." 



DEATH OF GRANT. 

IVa// Whitman. 
Let us have peace. — Grant. 

"To reap the harvest of perpetual peace, 
By this one bloody trial of sharp war." 

" Tis much he dares ; 
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor 
To act in safety." 

As one by one withdraw the lofty actors 

From that great play on history's stage eternal, 

That lurid, partial act of war and peace — of old and 
new contending, 

Fought out through v/rath, fears, dark dismays, and 
many a long suspense; 

All past — and since, in countless graves receding, 
mellowing, 

Victor and vanquished — Lincoln's and Lee's — now 
thou with them, 

Man of the mighty day — and equal to the day! 

Thou from the prairies? — and tangled and many- 
veined and hard has been thy part. 

To admiration has it been enacted! 



191 

CENTENNIAL HYMN. 

1876. 

Whittier. 

Voters are the uncrowned kings who rule the nation. 

— Morgan. 

Our Father's God! from out whose hand 
The centuries fall like grains of sand, 
We meet to-day, united, free. 
And loyal to our land and Thee, 
To thank Thee for the era done, 
And trust thee for the opening one. 

Here, where of old, by Thy design, 
Thy fathers spake that word of Thine 
Whose echo is the glad refrain 
Of rended bolt and falling chain, 
To grace our festal time from all 
The zones of earth our guests we call. 

Be with us while the New World greets 
The Old World thronging all its streets, 
Unvailing all the triumphs won, 
By art or toil beneath the sun ; 
And unto common good ordain 
This rivalship of hand and brain. 

Thou, who hast here in concord furled 
The war flags of a gathered world. 
Beneath our Western skies fulfil 
The Orient's mission of good will; 
And, freighted with love's Golden Fleece, 
Send back its Argonauts of peace. 



192 



For art and labor met in truce, 
For beauty made the bride of use, 
We thank Thee; but, withal, we crave 
The austere virtues strong to save, 
The honor proof to place or gold, 
The manhood never bought nor sold! 

Oh, make Thou us, through centuries long. 
In peace secure, in justice strong; 
Around our gift of freedom draw 
The safeguards of Thy righteous law; 
And, cast in some diviner mold, 
Let the new cycle shame the old! 

Ar£-onau/s — The heroes who sailed to Colchis in the ship Argo 
in search of the Golden Fleece. 



HAVANA HARBOR. 

FEBRUARY I 5, iSqS. 
Martha E. Oliver. 

No thought of harm disturbed each breast. 
In peace they laid them down to rest. 

Close sheltered in " The Maine." 
The sentry called put: " All is well." 
The ship so gently rose and fell 

The anchor felt no strain. 

A flash, a crash, a sullen roar! 
The gallant vessel floats no more 

In beauty on the sea. 
Rut, 'neath the waves of foreign port. 
Of wind and waters is the sport — 

A thing of mystery. 



193 



Brave men and true from many a town 
With ship and armor aU went down 

Six fathoms in the sea. 
For not 'mid storm and tempest tossed, 
Nor in a battle, were they lost, 

With shouts of victory. 

But, helpless, those brave men were hurled 
To borders of another world, 

With scarce a moment's prayer. 
For them all hope, all life was o'er, 
Two hundred gallant men, and more. 

Were murdered, martyred, there. 

Though in the ocean's stormy wave 
The sailor-hero finds his grave, 

And calmly, sweetly sleeps. 
Or in a far and foreign strand, 
Or in his own dear native land, 

For him his country weeps. 

Then, lest our navy's hope and pride, 
Who lived for fame, for nought have died, 

Their sacrifice in vain. 
We'll hold their mem'ry ever dear. 
And for them shed the pitying tear 

Who perished with " The Maine." 




194 



A BALLAD OF MANILA BAY. 

Charles G. D. Roberts. 

From Harper's Magazine, Copyright, i8g8, by HarJ>er &' Brothers. 

Your threats how vain, Corregidor; 

Your rampired batteries, feared no more; 
Your frowning guard at Manila gate, — 

When our Captain went before! 

Lights out. Into the unknown gloom 

From the windy, glimmering, wide sea-room, 

Challenging fate in that dark strait 
We dared the hidden doom. 

But the death in the deep awoke not then; 

Mine and torpedo they spoke not then; 
From the heights that loomed on our passing line 

The thunders broke not then. 

Safe through the perilous dark we sped, 

Quiet each ship as the quiet dead, 
Till the guns of El Fraile roared too late. 

And the steel prows forged ahead. 

Mute each ship as the mute-mouth grave, 
A ghost leviathan cleaving the wave; 

But deep in its heart the great fires throb, 
The travailing engines rave. 

The ponderous pistons urge like fate, 

The red-throat furnaces roar elate, 
And the sweating stokers stagger and swoon 

In a heat more fierce than hate. 



195 



So through the dark we stole our way 
Past the grim warders and into the bay, 

Past Kahbuyo, and past Sahnas, — 
And came at the break of day 

Where strong Cavite stood to oppose, — 
Where, from a sheen of silver and rose, 

A thronging of masts, a soaring of towers, 
The beautiful city arose. 

How fine and fair! But the shining air 

With a thousand shattering thunders there 

Flapped and reeled. For the fighting foe — 
We had caught him in his lair. 

Surprised, unready, his proud ships lay 

Idly at anchor in Balsor Bay; — 
Unready, surprised, but proudly bold, 

Which was ever the Spaniard's way. 

Then soon on his pride the dread doom fell, 
Red doom, — for the ruin of shot and shell 

Lit every vomiting, bursting hulk 
With a crimson reek of hell. 

But to the brave, though beaten, hail! 

All hail to them that dare not fail! 
To the dauntless boat that charged our fleet 

And sank in the iron hail! 

***** H« * 

Manila Bay; Manila Bay! 

How proud the song on our lips to-day! 
A brave old song of the true and strong 

And the will that has its way; 



ig6 

Of the blood that told in the days of Drake, 

When the fight was good for the fighting's sake! 

For the blood that fathered Farragut 
Is the blood that fathered Blake; 

And the pride of blood will not be undone 

While war's in the world and a fight to be won. 

For the master now, as the master of old. 
Is " the man behind the gun." 

The dominant blood that daunts the foe, 

That laughs at odds, and leaps to the blow, — 

It is Dewey's glory to-day, as Nelson's 
A hundred years ago ! 



THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS. 

yo/ai C Shea. 

When the boat's crew of the warship Brooklyn, after securing 
the standard compass from the wreck of the Infanta Maria 
Teresa, the flagship of Admiral Cervera, presented it to Commo- 
dore Schley, he replied with a trembling voice: ''I am much 
obliged to you, but the great credit of that victory belongs to 
you boys — the men behind the guns. Without you no laurels 
would come to our country." 

The thunders of that Sabbath morn — 
That morn so bright, so calm, so fair — 

Told that the Spanish ships, in scorn. 

Had come, like bloodhounds, from their lair; 

And Sampson's men, Columbia's sons. 

Sprang, rallying there, behind the guns. 

On, on, they come! Determined foe! — 
One chance for freedom on the seas — 







jisBsiaiis;;v!iSiKi.sss 



197 



igS, 

They strive to give us blow^ for blow, 
But two for one we give with ease, 
And thundering where Teresa runs. 
Our seamen stand behind the guns! 

New York, the flagship, where was she? — 
Look eastward! Ah, she's miles away; 

But Sampson reads the signal free — 
From ships now rushing to the fray — 

" The foe escapes! " But noble ones 

Are ready there behind the guns! 

And quickly now the words go back, 

In answer to the signal there; 
" Close on the enemy; attack! " 

And cannon's voices fill the air. 
For men die fast when hot blood runs — 
And freemen stand behind the guns! 

Impatient, Sampson views the gleam 
Of burning ships in deadly line; 

His heart throbs faster than the steam 
Forced on by furnace glow and shine. 

And all around war's noble sons 

Stand grim and fierce behind the guns! 

Schley, on the Brooklyn, giving blows. 
That made the foeman faint and reel, 

Knew, as every brave man knows, 
What joy of heart would Sampson feel 

Could he be with the foremost sons 

Who fought and stood behind the guns! 

The Spanish ships along the shore, 
Burned by fire and smashed by shell, 



199 



Are blackened pyres and nothing more — 

Yet some are dying where they fell, 
Brave, but misguided Spanish sons, 
You lost when freemen manned the guns! 

And while our warships plough the seas. 
And valor holds its glorious sway; 

And while " Old Glory " feels the breeze. 
That wafts brave thoughts back o'er the way 

The Nation's safe when freedom's sons 

Stand man to man behind the guns! 



WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. 

James Lindsay Gordon. 

Into the thick of the fight he went, pallid and sick and 

wan. 
Borne in an ambulance to the front, a ghostly wisp of 

a man; 
But the fighting soul of a fighting man, approved in 

the long ago. 
Went into the fight in that ambulance, and the body of 

Fighting Joe. 

Out from the front they were coming back, smitten of 
Spanish shells — 

Wounded boys from the Vermont hills and the Ala- 
bama dells; 

"Put them into this ambulance; I'll ride to the front," 
he said; 

And he climbed to the saddle, and. rode right on, that 
little old ex-Confed. 



200 



From end to end of the long Ijlue ranks rose up the 

ringing cheers, 
And many a powder-blackened face was furrowed with 

sudden tears, 
As with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, and hair 

and beard of snow, 
Into the hell of shot and shell rode little old Fighting 

Joe! 

Sick with fever and racked with pain, he could not stay 
away. 

For he heard the song of the yester-years in the deep- 
mouthed cannon's bay — 

He heard in the calling song of the guns there was work 
for him to do. 

Where his country's best blood splashed and flowed 
'round the old Red, White and Blue. 

Fevered body and hero heart! This Union's heart to you 
Beats out in love and reverence — and to each dear boy 

in blue 
Who stood or fell 'mid the shot and shell, and cheered 

in the face of the foe. 
As, wan and white, to the heart of the fight rode little 

old Fighting Joe! 




201 



"DON'T CHEER, THE POOR DEVILS ARE DYING." 

Mark S. Hubbell. 

Respectfully dedicated to Captain John Philip, of the United 
States battleship Texas. 

" Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying." The Angel 

of Death on the blast 
Had swept from the mouths of our cannon to wither 

the foe as he passed. 
" Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying; " there spoke 

the true soul of a man, 
And hushed were the voices of victors that cheered on 

the ship in the van. 
The bravest of words ever uttered to ring down the 

reaches of Time, 
That hold that exulting o'er sorrow is not very distant 

from crime; 
Like Nelson's last words, ''Kiss me. Hardy;" brave 

Perry's, " Don't give up the ship," 
These words are the flowers of the spirit that leap from 

the heart to the lip. 

" Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying," brave thought 

of a lion of the West, 
Enshrining the soul of a nation by heaven directed and 

blest, 
That show that compassion and pity are dominant 

traits of the brave, 
That the soul of the hero is gentle as woman's when 

watching a grave. 
Oh, nations of decadent Europe, the best of your past 

centers here. 



202 



Kind hearts are more noble than miters, and love is 
more mighty than fear. 

We war not for rapine or conquest, in God and His jus- 
tice we trust; 

Through Him we shall live when thrones totter, and 
coronets crumble to dust. 

Thrones totter — the old order changeth its greed and 

its hatred are through. 
And over the ways of the future there streams the brave 

light of the new. 
" Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying; " till the sky 

shall turn up like a scroll 
These words of a God-inspired mercy through 

uncounted ages shall roll. 
The will of the people, God's will is, when the generous 

heart finds its voice. 
And the peans of liberty conquered shall echo from lips 

that rejoice; 
But this shall ring true, through the ages, from Asian 

to Occident shore: 
" Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying," till Time shall 

itself be no more. 



BOUNDARIES OF THE UNITED STATES. 

Fhke. 

We join ourselves to no party that does not carry the flag 
and keep step to the music of the Union. — Ritfjts CJioate. 

Among the legends of our late Civil War there is 
a story of a dinner party given by the Americans 
residing in Paris, at which were propounded sundry 
toasts concerning not so much the past and present as 



203 



the expected glories of the great American Nation. 
In 'the general character of these toasts geographical 
considerations were very prominent, and the principal 
fact which seemed to occupy the minds of the speakers, 
was the unprecedented bigness of our country. " Here's 
to the United States," said the first speaker, " bounded 
on the north by British America, on the south by the 
Gulf of Mexico, on the east by the Atlantic, and on the 
west by the Pacific Ocean." " But," said the second 
speaker, " this is far too limited a view of the subject; 
in assigning our boundaries we must look to the great 
and glorious future which is prescribed for us by the 
manifest destiny of the Anglo-Saxon race. Here's to 
the United States, — bounded on the north by the 
North Pole, on the south by the South Pole, on the 
east by the rising and on the west by the setting sun." 
Emphatic applause greeted this aspiring prophecy. 
But here arose the third speaker — a very serious 
gentleman from the Far West. " If we are going," 
said this truly patriotic American, " to leave the his- 
toric past and present, and take our manifest destiny 
into the account, why restrict ourselves within the nar- 
row limits assigned by our fellow-countryman who has 
just sat down? I give you the United States, — 
bounded on the north by the aurora borealis, on the 
south by the precession of the equinoxes, on the east by 
the primeval chaos, and on the west by the Day of 
Judgment! " 



2a4 



THE SCHOOLHOUSE STANDS BY THE FLAG. 

Butterworth. 

A star for every State, a State for every star. — Winthrop. 

Ye who love the RepubHc, remember the claim 
Ye owe to her fortunes, ye owe to her name, 
To her years of prosperity past and in store, 
A hundred behind you, a thousand before. 
'Tis the schoolhouse stands by the flag, 

Let the Nation stand by the school; 
'Tis the school bell that rings for our Liberty old, 

'Tis the schoolboy whose ballot shall rule. 

The blue arch above us is Liberty's dome, 
The green fields beneath us, Equality's home. 
But the schoolroom to-day is Humanity's friend, — 
Let the people the flag and the schoolhouse defend. 
'Tis the schoolhouse stands by the flag. 

Let the Nation stand by the school; 
'Tis the school bell that rings for our Liberty old, 

'Tis the schoolboy whose ballot shall rule. 



Books for Supplementary Reading 



Study. By James G 



Needham's Outdoor Studies 

A Reading Book of Nature 
Needham 

Dana's Plants and their Children 

By Mrs. William Starr Dana. Illustrated by Alice 

Josephine Smith 
Kelly's Short Stories of Our Shy Neighbors 

By Mrs. M. A. B. Kelly. Illustrated ... 
McGuffey's Natural History Readers. Illustrated 

McGufley's Familiar Animals and their Wild Kindred . 

McGuffey's Living Creatures of Water, Land, and Air 
Treat's Home Studies in Nature. Illustrated 

By Mrs. Mary Treat. Part I.— Observations on Birds 

Part II.— Habits of Insects. Part III.— Plants that Con 

sume Animals. Part IV.— Flowering Plants 

Monteith's Popular Science Reader 

By James Monteith. Illustrated .... 
Carpenter's Geographical Reader — Asia .... 
Carpenter's Geographical Reader — North America . 

By Frank G. Carpenter. With Maps and Illustrations. 
Payne's Geographical Nature Studies 

For Primary Work in Home Geography. By Frank Owen 

Payne, M.Sc. Fully Illustrated 

Guyot's Geographical Reader and Primer 

A series of journeys round the world. Illustrated 

Johonnot's Geographical Reader 

By James Johonnot. Illustrated 

Van Bergen's Story of Japan 

By R. Van Bergen. With Double Map of Japan and 
Korea and Numerous Illustrations 

Hoibrook's 'Round the Year in Myth and Song 

By Florence Holbrook. With beautiful Illustrations 



$0.40 



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.75 

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.60 



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LOO 



1.00 
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receipt of the price, by the Publishers : 



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School Histories of the United States 



McMaster's School History of the United States 

By John Bach McMaster. Cloth, i2mo, 507 pages. 

With maps and illustrations . . . . . . $1.00 

Written expressly to meet the demand for a School History 
which should be fresh, vigorous, and interesting in style, accurate 
and impartial in statement, and strictly historical in treatment. 

Field's Grammar School History of the United States 

By L. A. Field. With maps and illustrations . . .1.00 

Barnes's Primary History of the United States 

For Primary Classes. Cloth, i2mo, 252 pages. With maps, 

illustrations, and a complete index ..... .60 

Barnes's Brief History of the United States 

Revised. Cloth, 8vo, 364 pages. Richly embellished with 

maps and illustrations . . . . . . . 1 .00 

Eclectic Primary History of the United States 

By Edward S. Ellis. A book for younger classes. Cloth, 

i2mo, 230 pages. Illustrated ..... .50 

Eclectic History of the United States 

By M. E. Thalheimer. Revised. Cloth, i2mo, 441 

pages. With maps and illustrations .... 1 .00 

Eggleston's First Book in American History 

By Edward Eggleston. Boards, i2mo, 203 pages. 

Beautifully illustrated ....... .60 

Eggleston's History of the United States and Its People 
By Edward Eggleston. Cloth, 8vo, 416 pages. Fully 

illustrated with engravings, maps and colored plates. . 1.05 
Swinton's First Lessons in Our Country's History 

By William Swinton. Revised edition. Cloth, i2mo, 

208 pages. Illustrated 48 

Swinton's School History of the United States 

Revised and enlarged. Cloth, i2mo, 383 pages. With new 

maps and illustrations ....... .90 



White's Pupils' Outline Studies in the History of the 
United States 
By Francis H. White. For pupils' use in the application 
of laboratory and library methods to the study of United 
States History ......... .30 



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NEW YORK ♦ CINCINNATI ♦ CHICAGO 

(8) 



Eclectic School Readings 



A carefully graded collection of fresh, interesting and instructive 
supplementary readings for young children. The books are well and 
copiously illustrated by the best artists, and are handsomely bound in 
cloth. 



Folk-Story Series 

Lane's Stories for Children . 
Baldwin's Fairy Stories and Fables 
Baldwin's Old Greek Stories 

Famous Story Series 

Baldwin's Fifty Famous Stories Retold 
Baldwin's Old Stories of the East 
Defoe's Robinson Crusoe 
Clarke's Arabian Nights 



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Historical Story Series 

Eggleston's Stories of Great Americans 
Eggleston's Stories of American Life and Adventure 
Guerber's Story of the Thirteen Colonies 
Guerber's Story of the English 
Guerber's Story of the Chosen People 
Guerber's Story of the Greeks 
Guerber's Story of the Romans . 

Classical Story Series 

Clarke's Story of Troy 
Clarke's Story of Aeneas 
Clarke's Story of Caesar 



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Natural History Series 

Needham's Outdoor Studies 

Kelly's Short Stories of Our Shy Neighbors 

Dana's Plants and Their Children 



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Historical Readings 

FOR THE Young 



Eggleston's Stories of Great Americans for Little 
Americans 

Cloth, 1 2 mo. 159 pages. Illustrated . 40 cents 
This book of stories is designed for young pupils of the 
Second Reader Grade. Its primary aim is to provide 
reading lessons that will excite attention and give pleasure 
and thus make the difficult task of learning to read easier. 
Another purpose is to interest children at an early age in 
the history of our country by making them familiar with 
its great characters and leading events. This is most 
effectively done in this little book by entertaining and 
instructive stories which every American child ought to 
know, and by vivid descriptions of scenes and incidents 
which pertain very largely to the childhood of the great 
actors represented. 

The numerous illustrations that accompany the text 
have all been planned with special reference to awakening 
the child's attention and they add greatly to the lessons 
and purpose of the book. 

Eggleston's Stories of American Life and Adventure 

Cloth, i2mo. 214 pages. Illustrated , 50 cents 
This book, which is intended for the Third Reader 
Grade, includes reading matter that is intensely attractive 
and interesting to the young — stories of Indian life, of 
frontier peril and escape, of pioneer adventure and Revolu- 
tionary daring, of dangerous voyages, explorations, etc. 
With these are interspersed sketches of the homes and 
firesides, the dress and manners, the schools and amuse- 
ments of the early colonial and pioneer periods. The 
stories of this book represent in a general way every section 
of our country and every period of its history. 



Copies of the above books will be sent prepaid to any address, on receipt of 
the price, by the Publishers : 

American Book Company 

Nevr York ♦ Cincinnati ♦ Chicago 



NOV 10 1899 



